But Call Me Betsy

We watched To Sir with Love last night on PBS, starring Sidney Poitier, a movie released in 1967, maybe the first of the "bad student. good teacher" film trope developed over the years with movies like Dead Poet's Society and that one with Michelle Pfeiffer where a gorgeous white teacher wins the respect of hardened street toughs ( Dangerous Minds ). I forget how she does this--through dancing or Kung Fu or something like that. It was interesting that race didn't play a huge, huge role in the film--maybe because it was set in London and so race relations were perhaps better there--some scenes of bias, but mostly, Sir was just this very proper man who got through to the class by treating them with dignity (except in this one scene where he punched a kid in the stomach, but he totally deserved it). As is the way now, I was able to watch the film while simultaneously looking up Poiteir's full biography on my iPhone to see that he was the first African American t...

I blame the iPhone for my morning delay and detour. I downloaded the newest update last night, and so was messing with my phone this AM and missed the Walnut Street stop (note: I haven't noticed anything different with my phone except now I have this thing called a Passbook?) . When I looked up, we were arriving at City Hall. I promised myself I would walk in halfway today, so I got out and tried to find my way out of the belly of the subway. I wish I could find a map of the place, because it makes no sense to me.Here's what I imagine the map must look: If you happen to go up the wrong stairwell, you end up in an entirely different part of the subway, going West instead of East, for example, and the only way to get back is to walk through the West part or totally backtrack and start over with a different stairwell. There are no signs to point you in the right direction, so you have to guess where you might be going. Consequently, when I finally emerged into the light,...

That's a line from the fake yet terrifying diary, Go Ask Alice ; a book I read when I was about 13 that kept me away from drugs for pretty much the rest of my life (notice the conditional). The diary is about a young innocent girl who falls in with the wrong crowd, becomes a drug addict pretty much overnight, and then ODs on something dumb like pot. The first time she takes acid, it's accidental--someone puts it in her Coca Cola bottle during a game called Button Button Who's Got the Button (as in, which bottles of Coke have drugs in them)?  Buttons are on my mind in general because I just got one last weekend in Princeton for a mere $4 in support of Obama (actually, it says, "Canine-Americans for Obama" and has a beagle and a German Shepherd mix on it). I pinned it to my bag and the instantly became aware of it as I was walking around the city. I didn't realize that having a political button would do that, but I honestly feel like people are noticing it ...

I'm taking a Tuesday night grad class this semester at Penn, and we get out at around 8 PM. Last night, the teacher ended a little early and I raced from the room---I'm always racing from the room after these classes--and did a fast walk down 34th Street toward the Market/Frankford subway; just made it down the stairs as the train was pulling in and felt good about that, but then just missed the connecting subway at City Hall. Such is life. One thing I wish wasn't part of the subway experience is that moment when you're waiting on the platform, reading your library book (in this case, T he Picture of Dorian Gray for said class), and you hear the guy behind you hock a giant snot ball into his throat. Then, there is the pause before he spits it onto the train tracks. This same guy did that about three times in as many minutes. Should he maybe be hospitalized for an upper respiratory condition? What it made me want to do is to bring forth my own loogie and spit it out i...

Leigh Ann sent me a link to "30 Renowned Authors Inspired by Cats." I found this video under Jean Paul Satre. The cat featured has the same name and spelling as my dearly departed Henri. And sort of the same attitude about the world.

We went to Niagara Falls last weekend with Dan's mom and Luke. It was a long long drive, and we stayed at a Quality Inn that wasn't. Ever since I heard some 20/20 e xpose on what goes on in hotel rooms, I find it difficult to sit on any available surface in a hotel room, imagining that it's teeming with feces and bodily fluids of dozens of strangers. Clearly, Dan does not share my fears. Also, this is totally staged. Luke posed like this on purpose. We did a few of the touristy things, such as going to the Caves of the Winds (on the way down in the elevator, a young tour guide got on at the last second and turned toward the rest of us to say in a monotone voice, We are now descending 475 feet to the basin of the mountain...The elevator was so crowded that his nose was almost touching Dan's. I laughed out loud and Dan closed his eyes and I knew he was controlling himself to keep from laughing too). They give you a little poncho and these free suctiony sandals...