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if you hear on the news that there was a major freeway bridge collapse in the Twin Cities:

I am just fine. I was nowhere near where it happened.

why it doesn't work

I watched the Today show this morning. This is no different than most mornings; in fact, my TV switches itself over to Today at 7 am. Fine.

Today was the first part of a three-part series on obesity in America (let's just ignore the ugliness of the word itself for a moment), focusing on teenagers today. Unsolicited advice to the dietician: do not go on national television and berate the fat girls. If you want to berate fat people, go work at a weight-loss boot camp. They have those. I promise you, these girls feel badly enough without your help. Do not berate the fat girls--and especially once they start crying. Thin don't mean happy.

I was so mad at this woman. SFB, and obviously no concept of what it's like to be a fat kid. For these girls to go on national television and talk about being fat kids, and then this woman starts spouting off about food diaries and exercise diaries? The look of unconcealed shock on her face when the three-sport athlete and cheerleader started talking about all her physical activity--she had to physically restrain herself from asking this little girl why she was still such a lard-ass.

At the risk of overgeneralization, thin people (by which I mean people who devote much of their self-concept and self-worth to being thin) think fat people are stupid. Or lazy. Or both. And those people can kiss my cellulite.

Perfection is a myth, and if you think I'm stupid and lazy I will show you stupid and lazy. Judt don't stand behind me while I'm on my treadmill, dammit.


It's like a little tiny production of Grease in here today. Everyone has a comb, everyone's running around, everyone's matchy-matchy, and there's a slightly frantic air to the proceedings.

I'd forgotten what school-picture day was like, to be perfectly frank.

a word I've never liked

The kids at school have different tefillot throughout the week. Everyone davens together on Wednesdays; there are small-group tefillot on Monday and Thursday (when other kids are in PE or art class), and tefillah electives on Tuesday and Friday. SL and I teach the eclectic tefillah elective. It takes various forms.

Two weeks ago, we did stuff on listening. We stayed inside and listened, went outside and listened, finished by hearing shofar. Last week was home. Mah Tovu, pairs discussion on what home is. Ashrei, pairs discussion on a place you're comfortable. Ahat Sha'alti, pairs discussion on what God's house is and what it means to live there.

Singing, discussion, movement, drama, etc.

We're loving the stuff we do, but are a little running out of ideas. But then whatever happens (from some discussion or another) works beautifully...except the completely disastrous discussion on response vs. conversation. "What do you automatically say? *sneeze*" "Bless you!" (if they'd contributed anything other than that, it might actually have worked!)

these plains are great.

One of the surreal Midwestern moments of my life:

Yesterday afternoon, the middle of the 4.5-hour drive home from visiting small brother (which, by the way, was awesome and not a tiny bit weird, but I loved the story about how he broke up with the former Object of His Affections). I stopped in Tomah, Wisconsin (which is more well-known for being 100 miles from Mad-Town than anything else one can do there), grabbed a book from my bag, went in for a potty and a snack. So there I was, in the bathroom of a fast-food place in Tomah, reading The Fat Girl's Guide to Life. Then the counter chick asked me where I got my book. I love my life.

About to teach ps. 29 to a group of 9th and 10th graders. We're going to look at the repetitive devices employed, and try to figure out what exactly it means and what it's all about. I had fun doing the same exercise four years ago with Esteemed Former President, and hopefully it's going to carry over to the kiddies.



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August 2007


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