Not a stereotype; just a fact

I've been trying to avoid writing about my daily experiences in a high school, although Lord knows I could write lengthy posts about the hilarity that ensues on a regular basis. However, this particular story is too funny to keep from you.

I had a junior American Lit class yesterday, which is comprised of 15 students who are mostly male and mostly African-American. We are starting a unit on Civil Rights literature. In class, we showed them an updated version of a Twlight Zone episode starring Vivica Fox. In the episode, a man travels back in time after an accident and wakes up the day before Dr. King is going to be shot in Memphis.

When the episode began, the kids were loud and talking to their friends across the room. I made the announcement: "Guys, this is just like you're at the theater. No cell phones, no crying babies, no talking to your friends."

One African-American boy who sat in the back of the room politely raised his hand and said, "Ms. Cook. Black people aren't quiet during movies."

I said, "That's just a stereotype."

Another African-American boy chimed in, serious as can be. "No, Ms. Cook. It's not a stereotype. It's just a fact."

I got a good chuckle out of that one; they were very pleased they could make me laugh.

For the rest of the episode, everyone was on his or her best behavior.

Violet, you're turning violet!

It's not too early to think about Halloween costumes. They require much preparation, especially if you want to create something from scratch. Does anyone have an idea as to how I can turn myself into a blueberry? I want to be Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. If not, Matt and I are going to be members of Devo. We're trying to recruit Rosey.

Josh and his woman have been prepared for literally weeks. They ordered costumes from a nearby shop. They are going to be a couple of crazy Germans and wear leiterhausen. I told Josh his name for the night is Gepetto.

If worse comes to worse, I'll just be Wilson the Volleyball again. I wear half a volleyball on my head, and I have a great t-shirt that I painted with the bloody handprint.

Norah the baby is going to be a chicken.

Has anyone else given this much thought?

No more wire hangers!

I went to pick up my drycleaning today, and there was a large sign behind the counter that read, "The United States has a dramatic hanger shortage. Please turn in your unused hangers!"

What? How does this happen?

R.I.P.

It was my greatest hope to actually be slightly creative with this posting and write it as an obituary, but I have neither the time nor the ability to keep my eyes open long enough to try.

That being said, I will tell you that the car I have driven for the past 8.5 years is no longer. I am the proud owner of a new charcoal gray Toyota Corolla, and life sure is sweet. I'm a new woman.

If you know me at all, you understand that I had just a few problems with my last car, a Grand Prix.

Try this out for size:

-headlights bashed in by randoms on the U of I campus
-scary car accident in the pouring rain...I lost control and rammed into a guard rail, facing oncoming traffic
-rearended by an Asian woman who didn't speak English
-rearended by a student trying to get to a final exam
-rearended by a student going to the library to study for final exams
-blown fuse near my rearview mirror that shorted on my drive to work, resulting in me thinking my car was going to catch on fire
-rearview mirror fell off
-sunroof that would open but not close
-faulty alternator
-attempted auto theft (caught them in the act), which resulted in quite a few scratches and dents

I will say that my Grand Prix was basically a transformer, from a Pontiac coupe to a stretch limo. Once, I had nine or ten people in it...including two in the trunk. And they were alive.

How Cheers Heavy almost got his ass kicked by a professional athlete...

Last Thursday, Matt and I attended the first anniversary party of InsideSTL. There were many pro athletes on hand to celebrate the site's 1st birthday, along with the 2nd birthday of "The Morning Grind," an AM radio show that the site's creator co-hosts.

Jim Edmonds taped a radio interview during a live broadcast of the show. (The show was aired the following morning...a crucial point in the master plan so that the co-hosts could get sufficiently drunk that night without the burden of a 5 AM wake up call).

After a brief interview with the co-hosts, questions went to the audience; anyone could ask whatever he or she wanted. However, everyone was pretty shy. They were holding back and basically ignoring the guy with the mic.

But, not old Cheers Heavy. He decided to ask, with some heavy duty prompting from The Cat, "Where can I get my own Jim Edmonds half-shirt?" (You see, Edmonds is notorious for cutting off the bottoms of his t-shirts and letting his tummy run wild. He gets a ton of shit for it. And he can't take a joke.)

Edmonds immediately gave Matt the ole stank eye and proceeded to mutter "sweet nothings" to him from his perch onstage. We were a little ner-vi.

Later, Edmonds girlfriend and baby mama (who is my childhood friend) asked me to come over and meet Jimmy Ballgame/Radio/Half-shirt. I was slightly embarrassed that Matt was at my side. Or again, maybe just a titch bit nervous.

Much later, Matt and Edmonds meet in the men's bathroom.

Matt: "Half-shirt?"

Edmonds: "Yeah."

Matt: "The Cat told me to do it. He said it would be good for the show!"

Edmonds: "I figured as much."

Ladies, good morning...

Here is an e-mail I received from my friend Kara who saw Justin Timberlake perform in Memphis last week for a taping of Good Morning America. It's brilliant.

It was everything I could've hoped and more. We got up at 4:00 and were on Beale by 5. My t-shirt said "dirty babe" in front and "you see these shackles baby i'm your slave" on the back. My roommate Meagan's shirt said "VIP" in front and "drinks on me" on back, my friend Thomas (a big hairy guy with mutton chops) had a shirt that said "come here gurl" in front and "go 'head be gone wit it" on back. Brad (the little guy) had a shirt that said "i'll let you whip me" on front and "if I misbehave" on back....uready?"

Anyway, when we got there, the band was warming up, so it was like a "Sexyback," "My Love" and "Rock Your Body" instrumental dance party. There were a lot of bums left over from Beale Street the night before, a few prostitutes, and an overarching drunk smell...Memphis at it's finest.

Then, finally, JT came out and did the sound check. He made fun of everyone for being outside at 5 am, when it was still dark, and it was sufficiently awkward. He was just wearing under armor and jeans. He went back inside or backstage or wherever, the guy started screaming "TIMBO" again, and we were stuck waiting it out again. But then it happened: Justin Timberlake came out in all his sexy glory, did the three-song set, and it was awesome.

He is so cute and tiny that I want to take him home and give him a bath in my sink and carry him around in an oversized Louis Vuitton bag...and maybe some other stuff. It was awesome, the show was so fun, and JT and I are in love.

Embarrassment is a dorky white teacher...

Today in class, I modeled how to write a free verse poem concerning an abstract idea made more tangible by addressing each of the five senses.

Prewriting looked something like this:

Victory is...

Looks like - a Statesmen in the endzone
Sounds like - the roar of the crowd
Smells like - pigskin leather of a football
Tastes like - sweat inside a helmet
Feels like - smooth metal of a trophy

I emphasized the need to create images based on the five sense. Thinking I was funny, I said, "But you don't have to worry about the sixth sense." And to make it worse, I whispered "I seeee deeaaad peeoople." You know, when you're a teacher, you're on stage.

Some kids giggled, but the best response was from a kid in the front row who said, "I seeeee whiiiiite peeoople."

Indeed.

You're the boy with all the leather hips...

I noticed something about myself today. I call everyone who is named "Michael" by both their first and last names. Everytime.

Is there a heaven for a G?

Where were you when you found out Tupac died? I was in my friend Alechia's kitchen. Her brother, Khorey, informed us of the sad news. He read it in the Southern Illinoisian. We were both in utter disbelief. We used to cruise around uptown bumping his music in my Mustang's factory stereo system. Tupac was our boy.

That's not normal?

Today is the ten year anniversary of his death.

One of my favorite rap songs is a tribute to Tupac, and it goes a little somethin' like this (hit it):

By the freedom of God, we got a sure shot
And Jesus you've been good to me, when it all stops
My life goes on for sure, Mr. Shakur
And bless with your presence, your essence, remains pure.

9/11.

Because writing this article for InsideSTL left me emotionally spent, I'm going to use it on my blog for the official 5-year anniversary of 9/11. I would just direct you to the link, but they seem to change on me these days.

I was aware that my “Off My Chest” column, published every Monday, fell on September 11th many weeks before I actually needed to get cracking on today’s article. Perhaps I was simply being impractically hard on myself, but I struggled a great deal with whether or not to comment on the fact that today is the five year anniversary of 9/11. Usually, I use this opportunity to vent on the latest pop cultural phenomenon that’s bugging me; my last three articles have featured verbal attacks on Lindsay Lohan, St. Louis jersey chasers, and my hatred for the word “panties.” However, I honestly cannot find the nerve (or perhaps the courage) to write about something so trivial or frivolous on such a significant day that undoubtedly troubles each and every one of us.

That being said, I wanted to ensure that I did not exploit today’s column as a means of expressing my political views or opinion about the war in Iraq. This is not that kind of website; I am not that kind of person. I would never take advantage of this position in order to dominate a little of your time with my political perspective. Who cares what I think, anyway? This topic is too meaningful to trigger the inevitable blasting of my thoughts all over the site’s message boards. In the spirit of a very necessary bipartisan viewpoint, I wondered for quite some time if I truly had any sort of opinion on 9/11 that could translate to something universal for us all, a common idea or emotion that resonates within us all. I hope I do this immense (at least, to me) undertaking some semblance of justice.

Let me act like a teacher for a second. When our country declared its independence from England in 1776, its members individually and collectively made exacting attempts to separate America’s foundation and ideals from those of England. To be more specific, our founding fathers and other innovative and scrupulous fellows yearned to establish a society that was drastically different from the oppressive nature of England’s former rule. This is why we have a democracy rather than a monarchy. They also desired to develop a culture that was unique and inventive, without a trace of influence from those uppity Brits. This is why, particularly in the realm of literature and other art forms, prominent new Americans called for a universal experience.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, an American author, poet, and philosopher, was one of these leaders. He sought literature that would unite a young America; in essence, he wanted to stop copying ideas and techniques from the British. He also believed that the new country should perpetuate a common myth to give the fledging society a sense of history and of folklore. These myths are still well-known today, including stories such as the first Thanksgiving, George Washington and the cherry tree, and Paul Bunyan and Babe, his blue ox. Granted, many of these tales are drastically sugarcoated or are utter fabrications. But, we all know them; we all heard them when we were children. They unite us as Americans (perhaps now only very minutely), and they are part of our familiar, collective experience.

What constitutes our modern day collective experience isn’t nearly so footloose and fancy free. We don’t typically elect political leaders who boast they “can never tell a lie.” We now see through the bullshit of glorified European-American and Native American relations. And I’m pretty sure that I’ve never seen a blue ox. Our reality, what we see in the news everyday, what we wake up to every morning, is simply dismal and frankly, downright scary in comparison. 9/11 was the ultimate blow to our country’s sense of success and security, abroad and within our own borders. Five years later, I’m still in disbelief and just profoundly sad.

Dave Letterman said it best in his first monologue after the attacks took place: “The reason we were attacked, the reason these people are dead, these people are missing and dead, and they weren’t doing anything wrong, they were living their lives… Another smaller group of people stole some airplanes and crashed them into buildings. We’re told that they were zealous, fueled by religious fervor… If you live to be 1,000 years old, will that make any sense to you? Will that make any goddamn sense?” Because it’s so difficult to wrap my brain around these attacks, they seem unreal. To me, 9/11 seems like it should be our new collective myth; unfortunately, it’s our universal horrible truth.

What I find does correlate to Emerson’s ideas is Hollywood’s recent attempts to make big budget films (United 93, World Trade Center) based on the events that took place on September 11, 2001. Many have criticized production companies for allowing the movies to be made “too soon.” Others have condemned the creators for capitalizing on the pain, grief, and misfortune of others to make a profit.

Although I haven’t been brave enough to actually see any of the movies for fear of some odd emotional release that may or may not border on insanity (read: I’m a crier), I disagree with the films’ detractors. To me, it’s a matter of human nature: the innate need to document history, to tell these stories, to illustrate inspiring triumphs of the human spirit. After all, it was Emerson who said, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us.” These movies are two in a growing collection of creative expressions that represent the action and aftermath of a turning point in our society. We have the beginnings of an updated canon of works of art that symbolize and define us as human beings living in a post-9/11 U.S. Like the young America in 1776 and the decades following, we live in a country during a time that no other nation can accurately detail.

Only we know what this feels like.

If you wanna watch the entirety of Dave's monologue after 9/11, click here.

I love every single one of you, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

Yesterday, Matt and I went to a rally for U.S. Senate Democratic candidate, Claire McCaskill. President Clinton spoke at the rally, and he was amazing. Eloquent, enthusiastic, humorous, and reasonable.

Not necessarily a feather in my cap...

I would suck on Jeopardy! It's not that I don't know ANY of the answers (although there are a shit ton I don't know)...it's that I can't think fast enough to pull those random bits of info out of my head. And then to answer in a question form, no less.

It's like the time I was on the JV scholar bowl team in 6th grade. The question was something like "What did Yankee Doodle pull out of his cap?" I buzzed in immediately. And then I went blank. I tried to sing the nursery rhyme in my head, but the words wouldn't come. I had to answer something, so I screamed out "Noodle!" I earned a new nickname that day (see, with nicknames, usually other people give them to you...you don't make them up yourself). Seriously, years later, Roger Flatt who played the trombone in the jazz band next to my trumpet still called me Noodle.

Last weekend, I was in Dallas visiting my cousin Karie, her husband Ward, and their two little girls, Emily and Madeleine. My cousin Kelly also visited from Jacksonville, Florida. All of us girls were playing Catchphrase together. Karie tried to get Kelly to guess the phrase "wedding bells." But, all that could come out of Kelly's mouth was "GLOCKENSPIEL!"

Noodle, Glockenspiel, what do you want from us?

Who is YOUR next Two Scoops?

In typical Cheers Heavy fashion, Matt has decided to give himself another nickname.

He used to sign his e-mails to me "Guycrest...out." You can easily see how worthy of insult that is.

Then, he made up the nickname "Goose" and acted like that was normal.

Now, he wishes to be called "Hew." As in the second syllable of his name, Matthew. As in Topher (Christopher) Grace. As in dipshit.

I tried to wake him up last Saturday morning to take me to the airport. I nudged him and poked him and prodded him. He wouldn't wake up.

I said, "Matt."

Nothing.

"Matty."

Nothing.

"Matthew."

Nothing.

"Matteo."

Nothing.

"HEW!!!"

He rolled over and asked, "What time are we leaving?"

We made it out alright...

Grand Cayman 2004

Incase you're wondering who that man in the middle is, that's Rex. See, Rex was our guide on our "swimming with the stingrays" excursion in Grand Cayman. Stingrays feel like jelly. Their mouths are funny.

Right after this picture was taken, Nikki had to swim away from the action because she was incredibly hungover, and the strong waves surrounding the stingray sandbar were not helping her nausea. She ended up puking in the ocean.

About thirty minutes later, we heard a girl scream, "Gross! There's puke floating over there!"

Yes siree Bob. Nikki is a pretty classy gal.