Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

Tuesday night I took Oldest to her clarinet practice lesson. The first part of the drive, from the house out to Main to Cedar Street Garden Shop was very quiet. Just the radio, tuned to something classical, and the sound of the van.

I guess the quiet got to be too much, and she piped up about her drama class. She hasn't enjoyed it at all this year and has constantly complained that they don't do anything and the teacher is horrible. Now, if I had a 100 average in a class, I don't think I would get my knickers in a twist about the class or the teacher, but then again, it's been a long time since I was a 13 year old girl. Boy, I mean.

Anyway, having found herself something to complain about, off she went on a fearsome tirade. "Ms. Drama is SO. STUPID! I mean, FIRST, she said SHE was going to judge us to see who was going to do which part in the play, THEN she said she was going to let SOMEONE ELSE do it!!! And THEN, she-"

"Ashley, you know, it could be a good idea for her to let someone else come in and watch you all do your reading. That way, no one can get mad at her and accuse her of playing favorites, and it would probably cut down on the complaining and hurt feelings if someone doesn't get the part they want."

It was if she had been pole-axed. She sat there in the seat beside me, speechless, but with her mouth slightly agape as if she were about to say something, but couldn't. It seemed like the thought that maybe her teacher wasn't completely evil and stupid just wouldn't compute and it made her operating system lock up.

I waited for a second or two, hit the power switch and got her restarted--"Well, anyway, and?"


"And? You were about to say something else that you didn't like about how she was doing things?"

"Uh." She sat for a second longer and then remembered where she had been in her rant and picked it up again just like someone had hooked back up her speaker wire. "...AND THEN, she got in a BIG argument with one of the girls in class because they TOLD her that there were LIGHTS in the STAGE, and she said NO, THERE WEREN'T but there ARE, because Melissa worked on it last year and knows all about the lights and she TOLD Ms. Drama that there were lights. AND THEN, Ms. Drama said there were lights, BUT THAT THEY DON'T WORK!! And Katie told her too that she was WRONG and Katie knows EVERY. THING. THERE. IS. TO. KNOW. about the lights. EVERYTHING! And so THEN-"

"Ashley, have you seen these lights working?"

"-THEN, huh?"

"Has anyone tried turning the lights on during class? Have you seen them working for yourself?"

"No, but Katie and Melissa know ALL about them, and-"

"Have they tried them out this year to see if they still work? You know, it could be that they worked last year, but something may have happened to them. You know, someone could have broken them or something. When your teacher said there weren't any lights, she might have meant that there weren't any lights that were working."



Change of subject.

I figure at some point she'll grow out of her adolescent, irrational, reflexive antagonism toward people with whom she disagrees. Sadly, some people don't.

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