To err is human; to forgive, divine

Today is Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. In addition to fasting (not as a punishment but as a way to focus one’s thoughts), Jews are supposed to ask for forgiveness from G’d and from those whom we’ve wronged in the past year.  During the Yom Kippur service (which I am choosing not to attend for reasons not worth going into here), there are two alphabetically-organized prayers which focus specifically on this latter aspect – the Ashamnu and the Al Chet. These are traditionally written in the first-person plural (the “we”), thereby acknowledging the collective nature of our sins, but I am going to create my own using the first-person singular as I want to personally accept responsibility for what I have done wrong and on what I want to improve, in the year to come. Even if you don’t see in here something I’ve done or said to you which begs forgiveness, please accept my apology and know that I will be working on doing better in the year to come.

Please forgive me, for I am/was…

Apathetic.  I could have done more to act on what I know needed doing, and I chose not to.

Belligerent. There were many times when I picked a fight or went looking for a disagreement when merely holding my tongue or trying to find common ground would have been a better course.

Cavalier. I took for granted the good things in my life and didn’t work harder to be mindful of them.

Dismissive. You told me something was important to you, or you asked for my help, and I didn’t give it the time, thought, or effort it deserved.

Emotional. I overreacted to something you said or did, and made the situation worse.

Flippant. I responded with humor or sarcasm when a serious issue was raised.

Grumpy. I was in a bad mood and took it out on you even though you were not to blame.

Hot-headed. I lost my temper and lashed out at you when you were really not what I was angry or upset with at all.

Insensitive. I didn’t think about how my words or actions might affect you.

Jealous. I envied what you had and wished that I had it.

Kill-joy. I took things too seriously and forgot that sometimes just enjoying the moment or another person’s existence is enough.

Lazy. I didn’t do what I said I’d do or I did a mediocre job because I couldn’t be bothered to put forth the necessary effort.

Manipulative. I used words or actions specifically to get a certain reaction out of you rather than being genuine and direct.

Needy. I know you are busy and I know you can't spend all day talking to me or answering my emails or addressing my issues. I should have thought about you more and me less. 

Obstinate. I chose not to see your side of our disagreement and refused to back down from my own position in any way.

Passive-aggressive. I didn’t say what I really thought or felt; rather than dealing with you directly, I tried to emotionally manipulate the situation.

Querulous. I complained about minor inconveniences or issues rather than looking at the overall good in my life.

Reactive. I acted or spoke before I thought.

Sarcastic. I didn’t think about how my words might affect you, only about how cleverly I was using them.

Temperamental. I was moody and mercurial when I could have worked harder to keep an even keel.

Unmindful. I overlooked or ignored all of the blessings in my life and took them for granted.

Venomous. I was malicious or vicious in my choice of words or actions and acted specifically to cause you harm.

Waffling. I made decisions I knew were difficult but good for me but then backed off of them in favor or doing what was easier in the short run.

eX. I was not patient or kind to you and chose to let issues which should have been let go of long ago color my treatment of and behavior towards you.

Yammering. I talked on and on or pestered you in some form of communication and didn’t even think about whether or not you wanted to communicate right then.

Zoned out. You were talking to me or reading me something that was important to you and I didn’t listen or focused on something else.

Why I Teach

Yesterday, I blocked a guy on chat on one of the online dating sites to which I belong. He didn’t make any of the usual inappropriate sexual requests I sometimes get or even use chat speak (a huge turnoff, fyi). He asked me why I was a teacher. After hearing about my educational pedigree he couldn’t believe I wanted to be “just a teacher.” Never mind that I get that occasionally even from the parents of my students, whom you’d think would want their kids taught by the best and the brightest. Never mind that I am often faced with fellow teachers who complain endlessly about the amount of work with which they’re “saddled,” or the parents who make unreasonable demands, or even the occasional student whom I’m unable to reach. Absolutely nothing makes me more furious than people wondering why on earth I would teach when I clearly have so many more options available to me. From the day I decided to become a teacher, almost 28 years ago to the day, I have never, ever questioned that this is my path, this is my calling, this is my passion.

I was fasting on Yom Kippur, a sophomore at Brandeis who had realized a bit too late into her “career” as a Theater Arts major that she had very little talent and a too-thin skin to go into the performing arts. I knew I couldn’t continue with what I was doing, but having been committed to being an actress since the age of 12 I really hadn’t given much thought to doing anything else. So given an opportunity for introspection that was rare for a busy 19 year old college student, I sat and thought about what it was I really wanted to do. What made me happy; what was I good at? I thought about how much I loved kids, how much I’d enjoyed being a camp counselor and how fulfilled I’d felt in tutoring and doing some peer counseling in high school. And that was when it hit me: I could be a teacher. I often refer to this moment as “the Jewish equivalent of an epiphany,” because at that exact moment it was like the Heavens opened up, divine light poured through my dorm room window, and then angels sang songs of revelation. It really felt just like that. I knew at that very instant that teaching was what I was born to do. 

And since that second, I have never questioned that I was meant to be a teacher. Sure, there have been low spots in my career (one of which I blogged about on September 11^th; another couple of which I still cannot bring myself to speak about as they reflect so poorly on either my colleagues and/or my students), but for the most part this was one of those moments we all pray for, a moment of such clarity of purpose and singularity of “right” that you know that you cannot even begin to think about questioning it.So, this is why I teach:

·        I teach because there is no feeling in the world like that moment when you see a student who has been struggling with a concept or an idea realize that s/he understands.

·        I teach because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my enthusiasm and encouragement carry my students far beyond the confines of our classroom.

·        I teach because the energy I feel when walking around the room or sitting and discussing something with a student one-on-one cannot be duplicated or fabricated anywhere else.

·        I teach because by showing my own children that the most important work they can do is following their passion – not money or fame or prestige- I am ensuring their happiness.

·        I teach because in ways I can’t even begin to understand I was born a teacher, and even if I don’t believe in a G’d who has a hand in my everyday life, I know that this is what I was put on this earth to do.

And sometimes, I get a sign that even when my spirits are down, when I’m not teaching and I wistfully contemplate all the lessons I could be creating and the lives I could be touching… I’m still a teacher. I got the following response to a Facebook posting from a former student who is in Egypt celebrating her 30^th birthday. I was her 5^th grade teacher nearly 20 years ago, and I remarked (on her excited response to visiting the Middle East) that she should try to remember what I’d taught her long ago. Here is what she said:

            You do not understand…ever since your class I have been obsessed with Egypt and have always wanted to go so basically this is AMAZING!!!!! Went to the Egyptian Museum and it was awesome seeing what you taught and I actually remembered a lot! Thanks for turning me on to this – I love it!!

And that is why I teach.

My Thoughts on 9/11

I don’t often talk about September 11^th.  I feel like there are so many more people who suffered so much more than I did that by even telling my tale from that dark day, I’m somehow equating my pain with theirs…which would be ridiculous. But, I do have a story from that day and it does bear sharing, if for no other reason than to remind me of how very lucky I am to be a teacher.

In September of 2001, I was teaching at a small, independent school outside of Boston (no, not the one at which I was teaching most recently). It was, I believe, my second full year in the 5^th grade, and we had what our fellow teachers euphemistically referred to as “a challenging group” that year. To translate for those of you who are not teachers, this usually means “pain in the ass;” in this case, it meant in particular “huge social issues; precocious, teen-like behavior, particularly among the girls.” But to be honest, I loved that group of kids and had been looking forward to being their teacher (and I believe my co-teachers felt the same way). Yes, they had some social dynamics issues and yes, they could be a handful at times, but for the most part they were a lively, friendly, invested bunch of kids who were every bit as affectionate and humorous as they were, on occasion, mean-spirited and careless.

I am not sure who first told me about the plane hitting the first tower; it was definitely one of my co-teachers, but I can’t recall which one (one of them is probably reading this, so feel free to fill in my blanks, Kristen).  I do remember that I was sitting at my desk, and that our students were engaged in some sort of noisy, independent activity that really needed only my occasional admonishment to keep it down for the classes on either side of us. I was probably grading papers or checking email, to be honest.  When Sue or Kristen came up from behind me (my back was to the classroom door), and whispered in my ear that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center,  I had a moment of absolute certainty that this was not the worse news I’d be getting around this event…not by a long shot. And as the day progressed and we heard about the second plane and the plane hitting the Pentagon and the heroes who brought down the plane in the field in Pennsylvania, that feeling didn’t diminish even a little; with each and every more upsetting piece of news came a gut-wrenching sense of, “There’s more.”

Reaching out via phone and internet to check on all of the many people I knew in and around NYC and DC was a painstaking process but ultimately provided nothing but relief and joy.  Anthony, who worked down near the WTC, was fine; Bryan, who worked near the Pentagon, was safe. Even Amy, who should have been on the subway right at the WTC stop when the Towers fell was- as she so often is/was, thank goodness! – late for work and safe.  Everyone I knew closely and personally was fine.  I breathed a sigh of relief as the day came to a close, pushing aside that feeling that the other shoe simply hadn’t dropped.

As I went to exit the school building, I walked past my friend Marge, the librarian sitting at her usual perch behind the checkout desk. Her eyes were red from crying, not an unfamiliar look for the day. I stopped to offer comfort, assuming she had known someone who had died; I felt so lucky that I hadn’t, the least I could do was be a strong, less-effected shoulder on which to lean. We talked in general terms about the tragedy, and then I said, “I just feel so lucky that everyone I know was okay.” And what followed was perhaps one of the longest silences in my life. “They…weren’t?”  I asked. Marge’s eyes filled with tears again, and I racked my brain to come up with whom we both knew and about whom I might have forgotten to inquire.  “Cassie’s mother,” replied Marge simply (I am recreating this exchange from a memory clouded with time and pain, so if it seems somewhat stilted, I apologize).  I laughed in relief. Cassie was a delightful, somewhat iconoclastic young lady in our class whose parents were on a trip to California; they had left that day, taking separate planes as parents – particularly late-in-life parents of only children- sometimes do. “No, no!” I exclaimed in relief. “They’re both fine- I asked!” Marge just looked at me. “They’re…not?” I said, echoing my previous, tremulous tone of voice. “We’re not supposed to know, or talk about it, but her mother was on the second plane. She’s gone.” And that is really the last thing I remember from that day.

In subsequent hours, I would have lengthy phone conversations with our head of school, both of my co-teachers, my parents and, probably, a dozen other people. I remember none of them. I do remember that I was informed that Marge’s information was, in fact, correct: Cassie’s mother had been killed when the second plane hit the Towers. Cassie’s father’s plane had, like all planes, been grounded and he was trying desperately to find a way home to be with her. The next morning, we met as a faculty before the students got to school and the following edict was issued: we were not to tell Cassie that her mother was dead.    The consulting psychologist who’d been brought in to help the students and us deal with the tragedy admonished all to take care of ourselves if we really wanted to be there for our students, and I remember very distinctly his encouragement that we drink water as stress is dehydrating (to this day, when I go to have a glass of water in response to stress, I think of that day).

It took Cassie’s father nearly a week to make it back to Massachusetts from the Midwest, what was easily the longest and worst week of my teaching career.  Every time I’d see Cassie happily playing on the playground or with her nose buried in a book or even doing something as mundane as avoiding eating the tuna from the salad bar, I’d think about how dramatically her life was about to change.  Nothing would ever be the same for her; there was no way to even cushion her from the pain she was soon going to receive. One of the reasons I so love being a teacher is that I feel nearly every minute of every day that I am doing something to help make better and more interesting the lives of people whom, I hope, will someday go on and make the world a better, more fun, and more positive place. But here I was completely unable to do anything; I knew full well that even after Cassie was aware of what had happened, there wasn’t a goddamned thing I could do to make it better. Only time could do that, and even in my usual hubris I recognized I had no ability to speed up that…or Cassie’s healing.

Eventually Michael came home, Cassie was informed, and their family took a few days to circle the wagons and grieve somewhat privately (one of the awful parts of keeping this secret for that week was not being able to react as strongly as I would have otherwise during the nonstop news coverage). When Cassie came back to school, her classmates- viewed before as self-serving troublemakers – rallied around her in a way that belied even our highest expectations. The “mean girls,” who on occasion in the past had mocked Cassie’s more tomboyish ways, wouldn’t leave her alone to the point where I think they rarely even let her go to the girls’ room by herself. Cookies were baked, playdates were arranged, clothing and hair doodlies were loaned back and forth… one of their own had been hurt, and our students in their infinite wisdom and depth of heart recognized that they needed to protect her as best they could after the fact. It was a long rest of the year, and it wasn’t until very near its end that Cassie had the inevitable catharsis necessary for moving on with her life.

 

But she has.  She and her father moved to Florida after that year; his family was there, and it gave her the opportunity to be away from the memories here and be closer to them. She took up golf, and we heard fairly regular updates about her success in both academics and athletics. She’s now a student at Wellesley College, back in Massachusetts… and an occasional visitor to my Facebook (as she and many of her classmates from back then are my FB friends). She retains that goofy sense of humor and irony that would show itself so frequently even in the awful weeks after her mother was killed, and it is nothing short of a blessing that we get to see how well she turned out. It makes that endless week, that long, long year all worthwhile… and then some.

So today, I am going to think of good things. Not of misguided pastors who erroneously think they are acting on the will of G’d in burning the holy books of others; not of those who would fight the erection of a religious structure and in essence betray the memories of all who died because our country continues to defend that right. I am going to think about the fact that I was blessed not to lose anyone close to me that day , that the person I know who did honors her mother’s memory every day, and that even in the face of horrible adversity… even children can show grace and kindness.

They Say It's Your Birthday

I don’t know what the heck was going on in Decembers past (probably the same thing that goes on every December: it’s cold so what the heck else are you going to do?), but I know an inordinate number of people with September birthdays.  And several of these people are important enough to me that I want to let them- and all of you-know just how incredible I think they are.

Jenn Taylor (Sept. 9): Jenn has one of the most beautiful, open hearts of anyone you could ever hope to meet.  Her life has been anything but easy, and she has struggled valiantly against internal and external forces that would have made a lesser person lose her sweet and open demeanor. Jenn is somewhat of a changeling – a foodie who lives in a part of the country not generally given to expansive gourmet tastes; a woman who is not afraid to travel halfway across the country to spend time with friends she met on the internet even when most of the people who live near her have never even left their county.  Jenn is shortly about to embark on an even greater adventure: she’s getting married next week. Nobody deserves a storybook wedding (with fried chicken ;), a lifetime of happiness, or having all of her dreams come true more than Jenn does.

Leila Varzideh (Sept. 12): Leila and I often joke that we balance out the world.  I am an open book, a bleeding heart, the one who will run her head into the brick wall again and again hoping for a different result; Leila is a look before she leaps, take no prisoners, fool her once and  you aren’t going to live long enough to think “Shame on me” kinda gal. She’s also fiercely loyal, unabashed in her devotion to her friends and her family and her totally awesome guy, Julio. Quite simply, there is nothing Leila wouldn’t do for a friend. Leila has weathered some pretty challenging life circumstances (a common trait in many of the people I care about), but rather than letting these make her resentful or wistful for days gone by they just served to strengthen Leila’s resolve to find a way to make her life and the lives of those she loves, better.  Though I am more than twenty years older than Leila, I’d like to be more like her when I grown up.

Andrea Danek (Sept. 16): The funniest part of Andrea’s and my friendship is what actually brought us together, namely a guy…well, maybe “snake” would be a more accurate term.  Both of us had been, you will pardon the expression, royally screwed over by the same soulless bastard (Andrea personally and me financially), and initially we bonded over that… but our friendship has grown into so much more! Andrea has the most expansive mind and spirit of anyone I’ve ever met; there is no idea she is not open to at least examining, no approach to a problem (particularly those that challenge the body and the soul) she won’t consider, no solution that seems too difficult to enact. Andrea is an amazingly adept listener, as well; when you tell her your troubles, not only do you feel that you’re truly being heard but you also have that strong sense that a problem shared is one lessened.  When my life took that sudden dramatic shift 18 months ago, Andrea was one of the people I leaned on a lot. And rather than resent or even just stoically accept this, Andrea commented that in a way she was glad things had changed as it had made me far more accessible to my other friends. Talk about a blessing!

Ben Nadel (Sept. 21): Ben is both the person on this list whom I’ve known the longest and my most recent friend, but he’s made a tremendous impact on my life in a very short period of time.  While I know that his basically very humble nature will downplay this, Ben is really responsible for my renewed love of reading and writing; his dedication to these things and encouragement of me to pursue them was definitively the driving force behind my picking them up again.  And that’s what Ben does best- encourage. He might deny it, but ask anybody in his field and they will tell you that Ben is the rock star of ColdFusion programming, not only because he is exceptionally skilled at coding but because he is tireless in his devotion to helping his fellow programmers improve and problem-solve and build upon their love for what I cannot argue (since I know little about it) is the best computer programming language around. One of Ben’s other great passions is movies, and it now feels like I haven’t truly seen a movie unless I talk to him about it afterwards.  And speaking of talking, there isn’t anyone else I have ever met who is willing to dig deeply into a philosophical topic and really pull it apart the way Ben will; he’s not only a deep thinker, he constantly challenges me to examine why I feel a certain way and how I came to that particular place mentally. But the thing I like best about Ben is actually rather selfish: quite simply, I’m a better person with him in my life than I am without him. He is bananas good.

Max Schapiro (Sept. 10): Last, and most certainly not least, we come to Max, whose birthday is today and who was really the inspiration for this entire post.  I have been told that I have the kinds of children who, even as teenagers, make other people want to have kids, and I can see why that would be the case. Max is sweet and caring and warm and altruistic; he will spend hours talking to a troubled friend (or mother) and will fret endlessly when someone he cares about is having a tough time. Max has an amazingly good sense of humor, and as he’s gotten older he has gotten more adept at tailoring it appropriately to the audience and situation, much to the delight of his friends and family. Perspective has also played a major role in Max’s hobbies, and it has been a delight to watch his talent and determination as a filmmaker grow and develop. He is a gifted and effortless writer (much to the annoyance of his sister), and his youthful laissez-faire attitude about his schoolwork has been replaced with a recognition of just how hard he has to work to do as well as he would like…without going overboard!  Max and I share a love of horror films, an abiding appreciation for people as a species, a shameful obsession with bacon… and a bond that makes my life so much happier and richer and more full of joy that I often can’t believe how lucky I am to be Max’s mom. I love you, MaxieMoo.

I have other friends/family with September birthdays, and if I left anyone off of this list and you’re reading this- feel free to comment and accept my apologies in advance.  So to Sally, Alana, Amber S, Mike Gliedman, Deirdre, Louisa, Pauly, paksie, and Katina… happy belated/early birthday and many, many more! 

You Say You Want a Resolution

Unlike with “regular” New Year’s, Rosh Hashanah really isn’t about making resolutions; in all honesty, that’s more on what Yom Kippur is focused (well, that and not thinking about how many more !#$%ing hours there are until you can eat).  However, I think that I will reserve the Day of Atonement for actually asking forgiveness from the people I’ve wronged (myself included); today I want to think ahead to how I can make 2010-2011/ 5771 a better year.

1)      Act, don’t just think. I am the queen of talking the talk without walking the walk. I say I am going to do something (i.e. answer emails or put away my laundry or stop messaging that person who clearly doesn’t care if s/he ever hears from me again), I know full well I will feel better if I do it, I recognize I have the capacity to do it…and yet I do nothing.  There’s a reason that one of the major pillars of Alcoholics Anonymous is the recognition of your problem as the first step, but without that second step… I’m still drinking, as it were. I know that whenever I come across these moments of action vs. inaction, there is a split-second where I haven’t yet decided what to do (or not do); I need to turn as many of those moments as possible into the opportunity to act.  Now, I know there will be times when I am too tired or something more attractive or fun is available to do (or when I’ve got a case of the “dumb and uglies” and will make stupid reaching-out mistakes), but if for the most part I make the decision to follow through on my better impulses and turn them into actual acts… I will feel better.

2)      Be more honest with and true to myself. I know this is going to sound funny coming from someone who is so very opinionated, but a lot of the time I have no idea what I actually think or feel. I have gotten into the really, really bad habit of realigning my thoughts and feelings to support my actions (see above) rather than vice versa. So when a situation arises that doesn’t jibe with my manufactured emotions, it creates an unhealthy state of psychological imbalance in me. But then, rather than recognizing that that imbalance comes from emotional dissonance, I shift my emotions/thoughts further and try to find an even more improbable way of justifying my actions. There is nothing at all that is good about this, and I need to work on recognizing when I am doing it before I go too far down that path. Blogging actually helps a lot; really, any formalized opportunity to codify and organize my thoughts makes it virtually impossible to engage in the kind of ridiculously circular thinking/feeling that I do when I get on the “justification carousel.” So as difficult as it is going to be, I am going to work very hard to dig deeper and see how I really feel and what I really think before I act. This is going to be particularly challenging because you all know that I generally think/work at a breakneck pace and this will definitely slow that down. However, I think what I lose in speed will easily be offset by gains in integrity of thought and feeling and comfort with the actions I take and decisions I make.

3)      Read more.  For all of my pontificating about how much I love to read, how overjoyed I am to have rediscovered books blah blah blah…when push comes to shove, I will still watch “That 70s Show” because it’s on after the 9:00PM news rather than turning off the TV and picking up a book. I do this more often than I am willing to admit to. While it’s tempting to assign myself a certain length of time each day that I must read (along the lines of what we teachers do for our students), I am willing to cut myself a little slack here and say that since I recognize this is a problem, since I’m working on #s 1 & 2 above, and since following through on this WILL make me happier… I can go freestyle at first. If it doesn’t work, I’ll just have to be more of a hardass with myself.

4)      Find something to do. I know many of you who read this would give your left arms to be financially able to afford not to work and do whatever you wanted with your time, which is more or less the position in which I currently find myself. Financial burden aside (not really something I care to discuss in public), I am bored out of mind. Whenever I say this, some well-meaning friend or family member comes to my “aid” with a list of all of the things I could be doing, and while I appreciate it…thanks, but no thanks. I know full well there are myriad things I could be doing instead of sitting on my ass watching “The Price is Right” (or even reading); they’re just not what I want to be doing! And I’m sorry if it makes me sound spoiled, but I don’t want to be doing something – anything! – just to keep busy; that’s worse than not being able to make good use of my free time! I need to be teaching, end of story. It’s my passion, it’s what feeds my soul; other than being Kyra and Max’s mom, it is the single thing that makes me the happiest day in and day out. Unfortunately, just saying that I want to be teaching isn’t going to bring me a job; neither is sending out a score of resumes to schools letting them know I can sub, apparently. So I am going to need to bite the bullet and compromise my lofty ideals and either go back to low-paying test prep tutoring or look at jobs which will require a longer, less pleasant commute or look at other sorts of teaching (like working in our local youth center helping with homework or applying for a job at the cooking school down the street).  To paraphrase Ashleigh, “It’s time to suck it up.”

5)      Be positive and believe in the power of my dreams: I haven’t read The Secret, and I find the current nearly cult-like devotion to the concept of the Law of Attraction to be a bit…unsettling. But when I step off my high horse, I realize that there is a good reason for this massive following: it works. When you hone in on what you want, when you focus the full force of your positive energies on asking the universe to help provide you with it and, perhaps most importantly, when you are not only willing to work for what you want but open to believing that you genuinely deserve it…well, that combination is virtually unbeatable. Next step: figuring out what I want (oddly enough, that’s a lot harder for me than any of the other steps I’ve enumerated).

And this seems as good a place as any to end this post. Whether or not you are celebrating Rosh Hashanah today, I hope that you can take some time to think about how you can improve your life.  If you’re reading this there is no question in my mind that you deserve the best you – and life! – can give yourself, and if you’re willing to believe that and work for it… it will happen. 

Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 5799

Happy 5771 to all of my Jewish friends whose new year will begin at sundown tonight. To the rest of you:

a.       Have a great day off from school/work OR

b.      Try not to be too resentful of your Jewish co-workers who took the day off and left you with their workload.

As with most Jewish holidays, Rosh Hashanah is an opportunity to eat, and enjoy the company of friends and family, and eat, and contemplate life, and eat, and complain about every little thing that is bugging you…and eat.  So in that spirit, here’s what Kyra, Max, and I will be having tonight.  I hope that whether or not you are celebrating this evening/tomorrow, your year is filled with sweetness and hope.

Pre-meal: Apples and honey. Kyra will eschew the apples, for the most part, and eat the honey with a spoon. I will scold her for this…and then do it myself.

Throughout meal and probably for the next week:Round, raisin challah (normally, Kyra would have made this for us, but having just started back to school she’s a bit too busy; Cheryl Ann’s is a pretty good substitute, though)

The main meal: Wendy’s “Peace in the Middle East” Chicken; Mama Betty’s Noodle Kugel; green beans with almonds (recipes below)

Dessert: Nigella Lawson’s Eton Mess (recipe below)

Peace in the Middle East Chicken - serves 4

1 c. low- or non-fat Greek-style yogurt

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 Tbsp Za’atar spice (this is a Middle Eastern spice blend of dried oregano, basil, thyme, savory, sumac, sesame seeds, and salt)

1 tsp dried mint

1 tsp lemon zest

2 good-sized garlic cloves, crushed

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (can use tenders; do not use thin cutlets)

1)      Mix together first 6 ingredients in a non-reactive bowl or casserole dish (I like my 8x8 glass baking dish)

2)      Add chicken breasts and rotate to coat.

3)      Allow chicken to marinate in fridge for at least 2 hours and as much as overnight

4)      Take chicken from marinade (make sure most of marinade is off chicken breasts so they do not burn) and DISCARD MARINADE (if you would like to turn these same ingredients into a dipping sauce of sorts, start over)

5)      Either grill or broil chicken breasts for about 5 minutes per side or until no longer pink inside.

Green Beans with Almonds

1 bag of pre-washed, pre-trimmed, microwave-right-in-the-dang-bag green beans

¼ cup whole roasted, salted almonds (you can use smokehouse or rosemary if you’d like)

½ Tbsp butter or olive oil (or a mix of both)

1)      Cook beans according to directions on package (if you’re not lazy like me and are using fresh green beans, steam or boil them but make sure they are still bright green)

2)      Put almonds in sandwich bag, seal and- using a meat tenderizing hammer- pound those babies until they’re coarsely chopped

3)      Heat butter/olive oil in pan over medium heat; add cooked green beans making sure NOT to add extra water

4)      When heated through and coated with butter/oil, toss with chopped almonds

Mama Betty’s Noodle Kugel (Note: Mama Betty is my paternal grandmother and was the very personification of the notion that food = love in spite of this NOT being a sweet kugel)

NOTE: I am trying this with wheat egg noodles and low-fat sour cream this year; I’ll let you know how that goes

12 oz. package of wide egg noodles, cooked al dente

¼ lb. (one stick) butter, cut up into tablespoons

3 eggs, separated

1 pt. sour cream

Salt to taste

4 Tbsp. butter

1)      Preheat oven to 400°F

2)      Mix ¼ lb. butter with hot noodles.

3)      Add egg yolks, 3 Tbsp. sour cream, and salt

4)      Mix well

5)      Beat egg whites until they form stiff peaks and gently fold into noodle mixture

6)      Grease 2 qt. (7 x 11- I actually use a 9 x 13 with fine results) dish and pour in noodle mixture

7)      Spread with remaining sour cream

8)      Dot with remaining butter

9)      Bake for 1 hour at 400°. Kugel should be crispy on top and around edges

Nigella Lawson’s Eton Mess (I usually half this)

4 c. strawberries, hulled and roughly chopped

2 tsp. sugar

2 tsp. pomegranate juice

2 c. whipping cream

1 tsp. vanilla extract (REAL vanilla; do not use “vanilla flavoring.” Yuck)

10 crumbled meringues (you can buy these at Whole Foods or make your own)

Sprigs of mint (optional)

1)      Toss berries with sugar and pomegranate juice

2)      Whip cream until thick but still soft

3)      Roughly crumble in meringues; it’s okay if there is some sugary dust in there as well as large chunks

4)      Set aside about a ½ c. of the berries for garnish

5)      Fold rest of berries into whipped cream/meringue mixture

6)      Serve in pretty glasses and top with reserved berries and a sprig of mint if you have it 

Nicely, Nicely

Consider the word “nice” for a moment, please. As a teacher, it’s a word I admonish my students to avoid; there are myriad other, more specific and descriptive words which can far better be applied to express positivity in their writing. But beyond that, it’s got a multitude of connotations which see it being regularly utilized in such a broad spectrum of situations that it bears discussion. And I would posit that maybe “nice” shouldn’t be quite so vilified and dismissed.

My parents used to (politely) make fun of people who would say, “Have a nice day;” I assume that this is because it is a rather trite, meaningless way of wishing someone well. When my friends saw the picture of the guy I had a date with last Saturday, there were a couple of responses of “Niiiiiiiiice!” a comment on the fact that he is, I have to say, a rather well-put-together fellow.  When I shoot out my less-rare-than-they-should be verbal barbs, I often get back a terse “Nice, Wen” meaning, in fact, just the opposite; I’m not being very nice at all.

But in general, I am pretty universally considered a “nice” person.  I listen attentively when people talk to me; I ask questions and am genuinely interested in their responses. I give to charity, and I am constantly moved by the plight of those who are less fortunate than I am- be it in the public or personal arena.  Even those people or groups who annoy or anger me will usually get some kind of concession that their behavior or attitudes are caused by circumstances beyond their control or reasons which I am lucky enough to have avoided and therefore should not be judging too harshly. Treat me poorly now and then, and I will probably come up with a million reasons why you did it, how I might have helped create the conditions which led to you doing it, and another million ways in which you have balanced this mistreatment with kindness. This does not make me a doormat or a victim, in my mind; it just makes me…nice.

I do have a sarcastic side, and I am not one of those people who feels that sarcasm has no place in nice, polite social intercourse. You have to consider the source, right?  There are definitely those who spew nothing BUT snark; it’s almost as if they fear that showing their gentler side will somehow render them weak and vulnerable. I don’t have this problem at all; most of you reading this know I am very vulnerable and anything but weak! Sometimes, a sarcastic, teasing response is exactly what the situation calls for.  It can lighten a mood, it can let the recipient know you are aware of the parameters of your relationship (Note: we all know people who are just too sensitive, or when we are in a superior position– as with a teacher to a student; using sarcasm in these situations is just inappropriate), and sometimes it just plain feels good to show off one’s wit.

But in general… we could all be a lot nicer to each other. How much extra effort does it take to reply on Facebook when we see someone is having a tough time (and I don’t mean pushing that “like” button, gang)? Are those milliseconds it takes to type in “Hang in there!” or “I’m thinking about you, sweetie” really going to cost you so much in your day that you can’t spare them?  Even at the end of a long day (or in the middle of it, or the next day), is it really that hard to respond to a friendly email with “I’m really busy right now; I’ll try to get back to you soon. Thanks for thinking of me?”  The positive energy this creates so far outweighs any effort you have to apply to putting it out there that I would unequivocally suggest that if you are gearing up to argue otherwise, maybe you need to rethink how you feel about the people in your life. I know that’s a strong statement (I’ve reworded it several times), but I stand by it. If your life is really so busy that you cannot be bothered to even acknowledge others’ attempts to reach out to you, you really should reevaluate your priorities.

You might be thinking, “That wasn’t very nice of her!” but I actually think it was. As I stated in comments on my blog on friendship, “A friend will tell you what you want to hear; a true friend will tell you what you don’t want to hear,” and let’s face it- nobody wants to hear that s/he isn’t being nice. But I know that there have been occasions when even I have needed to hear that, and while all of you (whom I know) who are reading this are definitely folks I’d classify as good, kind-hearted, and genuine…nobody’s exempt from being able to add a little more “nice” to his/her life.

So, as is my wont, I’m leaving you with some homework (humor me; it’s the first day of school, and I don’t have a teaching job, so I have to get my teacher jollies in somewhere). Be nicer. Try it today, try it tomorrow, make it a habit.  Don’t let life or people push you around, but recognize that when you are nicer and put out more positive energy and effort, you will be amazed at what comes back to you. Trust me- it feels nice. 

Read the Book! See the Movie (or not)!

 So last night I was lucky enough to catch “The Time Traveler’s Wife” on HBO…okay, I think I actually own the DVD but it’s still in the wrapping like so many of my DVDs.  This film- and the book on which it’s based- fall under the umbrella of my second-favorite genre: improbable romances (my first-favorite is religious horror. I am a girl of diverse tastes; what can I say?). What I mean by this self-created subcategory is romances that contain an element of magic, a little extra “unicorns and fairy dust” (thank you Ben Nadel for this definition) if you will. Alice Hoffman, my favorite author, always infuses her books with a perfect balance of love and the practical supernatural.  Her characters have some sort of romantic misfortune but always overcome it with the aid of their own determination and mystical powers. It is the ultimate expression of “love conquers all.”

Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife also embraces this ideal. The main characters, Clare and Henry, are destined to be together but Henry’s affliction – he has a genetic disorder which causes him to travel through time with no warning or control- separates them both physically and emotionally on a regular basis. It’s hard to talk about the book chronologically since it skips around through the course of their lives (much like Henry himself does), but they more or less meet for the first time when adult Henry shows up in the field behind child Clare’s house. Of course, at this point he is aware that they will fall in love and be married, but Clare is but an innocent accomplice to his erratic life’s journey.

The film actually addresses this issue far better (one of the very few things it does do better) when adult Clare calls her now-husband to task for knowingly shaping the course of her life and removing all free will.  But a little deeper consideration- and Clare’s own heartfelt recanting on Henry’s deathbed- brings this into question: since we don’t actually have a clear picture of when time begins and ends for Henry and Clare, are they both just pawns in the Universe’s perverse chess game? This is never actually answered and, in fact, it really becomes much less of an important issue when weighed against the core of this tale: there is no question that Clare and Henry love each other, no matter when it began and what the reason.  This is, after all, a love story, and that is what really matters.

As my cousin Nancy pointed out, with a few exceptions no movie ever really does justice to the book on which it is based, and the film version of “The Time Traveler’s Wife” is not one of those. However, there are several things at which it excels. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to condense into 90 minutes a 500-plus page book which spans 85 years, and the writer and director did a pretty good job of adapting the pivotal moments from the book which allow us to see why Henry and Clare love each other, how difficult is their struggle, and why we should care about what happens to them (something I often find lacking in modern romances). But the real hero of the film is the Director of Photography, Florian Ballhaus. His cinematography is absolutely, stunningly beautiful and, more so than any other aspect of the celluloid adaptation, brings to life Niffenegger’s gorgeously tragic world. There is one scene in particular where we see the course of Clare and Henry’s life as their daughter, Abra, grows up; the camera moves from room to room in their dream house and follows the main characters around while they age the five years we know will pass before Henry dies. It is an amazing visual representation of something of which all of us, particularly those of us watching our own aging mirrored in the maturation of our offspring, are painfully aware: time passes far too quickly when life is good.

And this is exactly how I felt when the book ended, but I cannot say the same for the movie which left me exclaiming, “Really?!? *That* is the best you could do?!”  The book has a wonderful, all-loose-ends neatly, peacefully bowed completion. Clare, having lived for nearly five decades after Henry’s death, is rewarded for her life of patience and belief: Henry comes for her (though he has been reappearing to Abra throughout these years), and it is implied that both of their journeys are now at a mutual, joyous end. But in the movie, after Henry’s death, Henry and Clare are reunited in the field where so many of their early meetings took place. In a horribly clichéd moment, after Henry inevitably fades into time, Abra and Clare fold up his clothes (in what is a neat concession to reality, Henry always arrives in time naked) and stroll off into the fading sun discussing how Henry will always be there with them. Ugh, ugh, ugh. I am at a complete loss as to why they couldn’t have filmed the book’s vastly superior ending; if any of you have both read the book and seen the movie, maybe you have an answer?

I want to leave you with some recommendations and a request for same. Here are my favorite improbable romances in both book and movie form. If you can think of any that I might have missed and should read/see, lay it on me! Oh, and by the way, I came up with my rating system:

The novel The Time Traveler’s Wife makes my cup runneth over; the movie of the same name leaves my glass half empty.

Book recommendations: Anything by Alice Hoffman, but Practical Magic and Here on Earth in particular; anything by Richard Matheson; Like Water for Chocolate (even better than the movie, believe it or not!)…

Movie recommendations: “What Dreams May Come,” “Chances Are,” “Made in Heaven,” “City of Angels,” “Starman,” “13 Going on 30,” and “Kate and Leopold.” There are many, many more but these are the ones that came to mind first.

Growing Down to Myself

I am growing down. Not like my favorite character from The Phantom Tollbooth, Alec the little boy who started off at the height he would eventually be and got “taller” as his feet got closer to the ground… although now that I think about it, I wonder if it was somewhat prescient of me to fall in love with such a minor character when I was so young. No, by “growing down” I mean that I can feel myself actually returning to a younger version of myself in many regards.

I have rediscovered my passionate love of reading, for one. I know this is going to be hard for many of you to believe, but I was actually a really lonely, kind of socially awkward kid and teenager. I loved people, much as I do now, but that “heart on my sleeve” thing that you all find so endearing now led to me being emotionally butchered to the point where I eventually just started sort of keeping to myself a lot. I would still occasionally sit on the curb at the end of the cul-de-sac where we lived and just wait for someone to notice me, to come play with me… but, of course, that kind of odd behavior was exactly the sort of thing that drove the neighborhood kids away (at best). So I read. Constantly. I had my nose buried in a book at all hours of the day, and I would often find- as I do again now- that coming out of that deeply engaged state of reading, of exiting the world of whatever novel I was immersed in, was a bit like resurfacing when you’ve worked to touch the bottom of the pool and need to get up quickly since you’re almost out of air. But there’s a difference now. When I was younger, I would definitely lose myself in the books, in the stories, in the characters whose lives were all figured out and neatly packaged between the pages. Now, I find that I am taking these aspects of the stories into myself and finding where they fit in with who I am and who I am becoming. Through Clare, the tragic heroine of The Time Traveler’s Wife, I see my capacity to believe in love even in the face of insurmountable odds. Elv, one of Alice Hoffman’s Story Sisters, is- like I was- able to find through becoming a mother a depth of sanity and groundedness she’d never even believed she could embrace. Even in my sporadic rereading of The Fountainhead I see in Howard Roarke’s fiery passion for architecture and perfection my own soul-deep love of teaching.

And writing. Oh my G’d, how I loved to write when I was a kid! I think until I started blogging again, I really had forgotten how wonderful it feels to let out of your head and your heart the thoughts and ideas and dreams that just swirl around endlessly. The first thing I remember enjoying writing were our weekly Spelling stories in third grade. I know, right? It’s hard to imagine loving such a pedestrian, tedious assignment. But I made it my own: I took the spelling words and easily and, I have to say, pretty effectively crafted them into tales of fun and adventure involving my classmates. My class had 16 or so kids in it, we had 20 words per week (give or take), and I delighted in making sure that each classmate and each word got the full attention s/he/it deserved.  It was kind of a turning point for me, in a way; my classmates, eager for their 15 seconds of fame, would badger me about what was going to happen that week, what adventures would we go on. In this way, I gained a modicum of greater social acceptance and an early notion that perhaps the way I could get people to love me was just to pay attention to them and recognize them for who they were (Not such a tall task for a girl who really was (and is) genuinely fascinated with those who surround her). But spelling stories became a thing of the past as we moved through school, and I took to writing stories about whomever I fancied myself in love with at the time. I will never forget the summer when I had to leave the theater arts program I so adored in order to – horror of horrors!- be dragged kicking and screaming to Mexico with my family (I think this was after my sophomore year of high school, but I’m having some trouble recalling the time line). I defiantly sat in my hotel room and wrote and wrote and poured out the longing in my teenaged heart (hmm… I’m thinking this was probably about Bill Wright, or Mr. Wrong as my girlfriends so aptly called him)…until I got back, went to camp, and fell for some other guy and dumped my original protagonist for this newcomer. The writing was good for me; the writing itself…probably not so much.

So I now find myself again embracing these two aspects of the younger Wendy and reclaiming the thoughtful, dreamy, hopeful quality with which reading and writing imbued me at an early age. But it is now combined with the wisdom and experiences of the life I’ve lived, and this gives me a perspective which my youth simply did not allow. As an adult, I am able to contemplate, to filter, to accept that which is worth pulling in and keeping close and to politely let go of that which belongs just to the book I’m reading or the words I’m crafting. As I said in an email to a friend last night, “...not quite sure what to make of myself these days, but I think I like who I am becoming." It seems trite, but I truly believe these words are valid: Life is a journey, not a destination. Here's to the journey to becoming me.

Eat, Pray, Love...Think and Thank

I just saw “Eat, Pray, Love.” Originally I intended to do a review of it, but I think instead I am going to talk about the things it made me think about (and maybe I’ll review it later, perhaps after I’ve read the book). I have to say that I have heard from a number of people that it wasn’t their cup of tea, and I can definitely see why. One reviewer, the smarmy guy on the NYC taxi cab news show, said that Julia Roberts’ Liz is suffering from “rich lady problems” (that’s paraphrasing), but I completely disagree. I do see how many people would have trouble understanding what the character is going through; in fact, I almost emailed a younger friend of mine to tell him not to bother seeing it because I was certain he couldn’t relate to it at all. But for me, the movie (and, I am guessing, the book) touched on SO many things I am dealing with and have been dealing with in the past 18 months that it was downright cathartic to see “Eat, Pray, Love.” And here is what I took away from it.

I have an amazing life. I have so much to be grateful for. I am so very, very lucky and blessed.

If someone had told me in April of 2009 (or June or August or November), or maybe even a few nights in the last seven months, that I would be saying those words, I would have seriously questioned his/her sanity. My life has definitely undergone some remarkably significant changes in the relatively recent past, and I would be lying through my fingertips if I didn’t tell you there were many times in there when I was not at all sure I could live through those changes. Literally. They say that that which does not kill us makes us stronger, and I am the absolute living proof that that is often, in fact, the case. What I went through almost killed me (emotionally, spiritually, and physically), but the woman I am today- the person I am today- is so much stronger and better and healthier and happier than the woman who existed before all of this pain came my way. And the truly exciting part is that I’m not even close to done growing yet! I have so much more to look forward to; I’m really just at the start of my journey, having come out the other side of these changes. And the possibilities are limitless! I can go anywhere (soon), I can do almost anything I want to… the only barriers to my happiness and success are the ones I choose to accept and place in my own way, and I am here to tell you that I am DONE with that!

Some of the changes that happened in my recent past were not my choice, and I have to say that for a long time I would gladly have chosen to go back to the way things were. But I have gradually come to recognize that the place in my life I am now is so much better not only than where I was but even where I could be if those changes hadn’t occurred. Some of you reading this are smiling, no doubt; I know many of you have told me these same things, but as you well know- you can’t tell me anything. ;) Seriously, I would not be in this sound, solid, sane place without all of you. You have listened to me cry, you have called me on a daily basis, you have put up with my snail-paced learning process, you have tolerated my clinginess and my isolation, you have reminded me that I can fall in love again, you have encouraged me when I am doing well and held me up when I wasn’t. I’m sure all of you know that “Footprints in the Sand” poem/story/allegory, but in *my* story it is all of you who have carried me when I was unable to walk; it was your footprints on the beach of my life.

It all begins with being mindful and grateful.

Some of what I lost, I lost because I wasn’t mindful of the good things in my life (even though there were better things ahead); this, too, I am done with. I am going to try to be grateful for at least one good thing in my life every day, and I am going to be mindful and acknowledging of even the little things that have led me to this unexpectedly joyful place in my life. I am not foolish enough to believe that there isn’t still struggle ahead, and that I won’t have to work not to fall into my old, easy habits of just paddling along. But, as Don Miguel Ruiz says in The Four Agreements, “Always do your best.” If I am always doing my best (notice the absence of the word “try” there, by the way), then even when my best isn’t of the highest caliber or doesn’t quite get me where I’d like to be going, I can be content knowing that it was, in fact, the best I could do right then. And maybe later on, my best will be a little better for having accepted that.

As I like to do with these blogs, I’m turning this back around on you, my friends and readers. Tell me what you’re grateful for, tell me what you’re mindful of, tell me what you’d like to change in order to be more appreciative and aware. I will end this by telling you that today I am grateful for a good movie that helped me to focus my thoughts and feelings in such a positive and progressive way. 

All I Have to Do is Dream

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

That is my favorite poem, penned many years ago by the wonderful Langston Hughes.  I think it speaks to me because it is how I live my life- clinging to dreams and making sure that my field doesn’t become, you know, barren and frozen and stuff.  However, right now I am sorry to say that I am dreamless. I have nothing to dream about right now, and it’s definitely giving me pause. I don’t mean I’m not dreaming when I sleep (don’t you go crazy when that happens?); I still have totally whackadoodle dreams of the nocturnal variety and enjoy the heck out of analyzing them when I wake up. No, what I mean is that I have nothing about which to day dream, to fantasize in the here-and-now.

Now some people will be shaking their heads at this, wondering how on earth I can be whining about having everything so damn perfect in my life that I have nothing left to want for. Um…no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Don’t get me wrong; my life right now is so far better than it has been in ages that even I am a little disgusted at myself for complaining about this. But truth be told, it is a big deal for me to not have anything or anyone to jones after, and it’s having a definite deleterious effect on my life!

Since I was a wee girl, I have put myself to sleep at night by telling myself stories, in effect fantasizing. But we’re not talking “Three Bears” or even “Wendy Does…um, Walla Walla” here. I come up with a scenario of some sort that I want to happen and in elaborate and vivid detail, I play it out in my head. These can last for as short as one night or literally for months and months. I’ve always done it; it really is the only way I know how to fall asleep. And, okay, I will confess that a good number of these fantasies *do* revolve around whomever I’m into at the moment, be it a celebrity (Matthew Morrison was featured prominently for a while) or someone I have a crush on, though to be honest, right now there are more folks in the “people I should not be fantasizing about” category.

But here’s the thing- the scenario is always something that could actually happen. Now I am sure even those among you who think I’m cute as a button are going, “Right, Wen. Like you could nail Matt Morrison. In your…er, dreams!” And, you’re probably right. But I can set up a scenario (my journalist friend has to do a “Glee” set interview and brings me along), a reason for us to meet (the craft services line, where I impress him with my foodie knowledge), a reason for us to continue talking (I mention that I was the teacher who, at the Paley Festival, asked him who inspired him), a reason for him to want to see me off set (he wants me to teach him how I make my awesome panzanella) and from there, well, let’s just fade to a nice, safe black shall we? However, I basically could not keep deluding myself that Matt and I were going to meet up much less hook up, particularly when I saw the kinds of girls with whom he keeps company.

And like I said, most of the time these fantasies revolve around someone I know, and right now there is just nobody I can/should be thinking that way about. SO…what am I left with? I have tried dreaming about jobs, but considering my current unemployed status and how much I love teaching, coming up with awesome curricular ideas is just torturing myself. I have tried designing jewelry in my head, but I’m so visual with that particular hobby that I just give myself a headache trying to precisely picture what I might be making. Oh, and you’ll love this: I tried blogging in my head the other night, but that just made me hop out of bed at 1:00 AM so that I could jot stuff down and not forget it. Kind of counterproductive, right? And I’m still not getting to the root of the problem here: I have nothing to wish for, nothing to hope for, nothing to dream about.  My bird is definitely hobbled.

I would love to end this post with something pithy and wise, but honestly- I’ve got nothing. I’m having trouble sleeping, I’m unhappy about my lack of passion for my life overall right now (though I can’t complain about the contentment factor!), and I am not enjoying having nobody in particular drift across my mental storyboard. But, this has given me the opportunity to turn it back around to you, my friends and readers: what do you dream about? What fantasies feed your emotional well-being? Oh, and I’ll leave it up to you as to how naughty you want to make it, but keep in mind that my mom and my kids may be reading this. Alternately, if you’re not comfortable sharing your innermost secrets with my reading public (but hey! We don’t judge here at It’s a Wendyful Life!), tell us how you fall asleep at night.

I'm in Lesbians with Scott Pilgrim vs The World

So, last night I *finally* (and by finally I mean I had to wait two whole days after it opened) got to see “Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.”  To say that this was the movie I was most looking forward to this year would not be a big overstatement, and I am overjoyed to tell you that I was in no way disappointed by it. Scott Pilgrim is a comic book or video game come to life, and even though I am not a comic book geek or a gamer gal (despite the best efforts of some of my friends and my son) I found it wholly delightful, entertaining, and fresh.

Michael Cera plays the titular character, and though- as with all his movies- he is basically playing Michael Cera, he does add enough depth and originality to his portrayal to make the character likeable and compelling. You want him to get the girl! Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s imbues his lady love, the aptly named Ramona Flowers, with just enough slacker charm and world-weary sadness to allow us to see what he sees in her. Too often in modern romantic movies you’re left wondering, “Why the hell would s/he go through all of this for him/her!?!?” but that is most certainly not the case in Scott Pilgrim. The secondary characters are equally well portrayed.  My particular favorite is Kieran Culkin (now surpassing Macaulay as my favorite Culkin!) as Wallace Wells, Scott’s gossip-monger gay roommate with whom he is forced to share not just living quarters, not just an actual bed, but several awkwardly intimate moments. Other standouts include Brandon Routh (almost unrecognizable in a white-blond wig) as a smug vegan who has his comeuppance and Anna Kendrick as Scott’s supportive but savvier sister. The sweet-faced Ellen Wong does a wonderful job with a thankless role, that of Knives Chau the girl whom Scott throws over for the enchanting Ramona.

But it is the big special effects and small touches that really make Scott Pilgrim an original and completely engaging film.  Sh*t is blown up, fights are had…no, gang, I did not accidentally step into a theater showing “The Expendables!” Scott Pilgrim is also full of action, and definitely should be topping Stallone’s meatfest in the box office (yes, yes; I’m going to see it. I just think Scott Pilgrim is a way more creative, exciting movie and deserves more box office love for its efforts).  It does things no movie before it has done, and – not unlike “Sin City” before it- will definitely be emulated in upcoming movies that spring forth from the comic book world. I don’t want to spoil the surprises and cute little touches that are sprinkled throughout the film, but I will say that you should definitely hit the loo before you go in so that you don’t miss something and then have to walk back in to your friends yukking it up over something they won’t be able to explain to you adequately later. Scott Pilgrim is a movie to be seen, not to be heard (about).

I’ll leave you with one final piece of advice re. seeing this film: don’t hang around after the credits. There’s a cute little videogamesque sequence at the end, but it is definitely not worth doing the potty dance if you actually bothered to listen to me, went before the movie, but then drank the equivalent of the River Nile in Coke during the film. *That* you can have your friends (or, you know,  me) tell you about!

So, since this is my first movie review, I need some sort of star-like rating system, and I’m looking to you, blog-reading pals, to help me out. I was thinking of giving a movie a certain number of “boobs” (it being me and all), but that seems kind of crass and besides- who really wants FIVE boobs!?!?  Cookies? Meows? What about “words,” since so many of you are amused by my use of the affirmation “word” or “word up?”  Hmm…  “I give Scott Pilgrim 4.5 WORDS!” Eh…I don’t know. What do you think?