Do you ever play your life in your head like a movie or a TV show, stepping outside and watching yourself being played by a very convincing actress? Sometimes you can even add a soundtrack and you change camera angels and light for full effect. There are times when you can easily imagine your life as the latest teen drama airing Tuesday nights at 9:00 on the new CW whose soundtrack is an angsty mix of indie bands and lighting is muted to capture the full melodrama of your life. Other times you're J.D. from Scrubs, pausing to think the occasional woeful thought, but adding a witty criticism or commentary at the end, and eventually something comedic (even bordering on slapstick) happens to shake you from your reverie. While both genres are fun to watch on TV -- and believe me I enjoy both to the fullest extent -- I've come to the conclusion that life is much better lived as the latter. If you're Marissa on the OC or Humphrey on Gossip Girl all the time, you're bound to start getting depressed. If you're Dan in Real Life, on the other hand, you might just find yourself as I did earlier today: shaking your head, laughing, and saying, "I am a ridiculous person," as you realize you've been driving the wrong way on the highway for at least five miles.

It's not even 7:00 Monday morning, and I've already made a trip under the desk

The last time I did something really stupid at work, my coworkers were nice enough to put together a tribute to all the stupid things they had done that had not resulted in firing. This tribute consisted of sticky notes posted under my desk, so that the next time I descended there, crying and hiding from the world, I would at least take heart in the screw-ups of others. This morning, I made that trip after incorrectly assuming that one of the building engineers was here, and setting off the alarm. This is a really bad start to the week.

The great thing about Neville is there's a little of him in each of us. Neville is on the autism spectrum. For those of you who don't include yourselves in this wonderful bubble we call education, the really socially awkward kid from 50 years ago became the autistic kid, which evolved into the autism spectrum; because "autistic" can't really cover both the Rain Man and that student who takes things a little too literally and can't stop talking about boats...repeatedly. Neville is on the lower end of the spectrum: he functions more or less normally in his broader day-to-day routines (with the exception of an occasional backward shirt), but his classmates' sarcasm is lost on him, he misses social cues yet is devastated when others criticize him, often tells elaborate stories as if they were true, and has the hardest time breaking any task into its requisite steps. Last year, Neville was a salmon fisherman. The other day, he furiously itched his head a la Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club, insisting he could concentrate on nothing. He is also learning the saxophone, and becoming an expert on surfing.

But like I said, we all have a little Neville in ourselves. Some of us will pretend we know about something others are talking about, only to get caught up in our own deception in half a minute's discussion. Some tend to fixate on social faux pas, trying to make up for them so earnestly that we commit five more in the process. Others have wonderful work ethic...after taking 60 minutes to just get started. Still others just want to be alone from time to time, and don't know how to express that in a socially acceptable way.

The trouble for Neville is that while we all have a little part of Neville in ourselves, Neville has every part of Neville in himself. Those little issues we fight to brush under the rug every day would form a small hill under any rug Neville tried to use. That's why I love him so much: because he fights with those pieces of ourselves we wrestle with every minute of every day. All things considered, he does a pretty good job.

Now begins Week 4 in my new job as a learning specialist at a school for students with "diverse learning styles." One might have thought that after the summer spent doing much relaxing and little stressing on Martha's Vineyard, I would be adverse to any type of work, but then this new job can barely be considered work. Even my roomie, (translation: the teacher with whom I share an office) who loves to fake-beef about our school, refers only to his second job as "work." We'll be finishing up on a Friday, packing our bags and he'll grab his clothes for the restaurant and say, "Alright, it's time to go to work." At this new job, I collaborate with students, parents, and teachers to best cater to each student's learning needs. I never realized how great it would be to love both what you do and who you do it with.

Pot and Puppies

Tonight, walking home from the bus, the park was full of people walking their dogs and the streets were rich with the smell of pot. I love my neighborhood.

Stop Bitching and Go Home

I thought I had left them on the corner of M and Wisconsin, but last night in the supermarket on Martha's Vineyard (of all places), there she was in line behind me -- "Stop Bitching and Start a Revolution." Now if anyone can explain to me what the Zendiks are doing besides bitching (and, according to their website, farming together), I will perhaps rescind my criticism. But until that day, to me, they are just in the way of my oft-repeated walk to Urban Outfitters and B&N. And, since sister J was just accepted into the big G for the next 4 wonderful years, I can still pretend like I belong. So please stop bitching, and move out of my way. I have a date with a book and an iced coffee. At least don't haunt me at my grocery store in Mass.

Damn teens and their... Phil Collins

J and I drive home together Monday night after dropping off B at lacrosse practice. She mocks my "weird" music and switches to a radio station whose mantra is "We play what we feel like," which may as well be J's own motto, if her iPod selection is any testiment to her taste in music. But then, don't we all have a little of that in us. We start rocking out together -- we are pretty similar, even in music -- and blast the music, with the windows down, as we fly through our typically mild-mannered suburban streets, filled with neighbors walking dogs and children. One woman whirls around, leash in hand, to see the cause of such commotion, and I laugh, saying, "That woman is thinking, 'Damn those teens and their...'"

Which J finishes with, "Phil Collins." Because that is, of course, what we were dancing to at that particular moment. Sometimes I am wowed by how cool we McA's are.

This link, courtesy of Bob, I've been meaning to post for a while. Whatever comments I was going to write along side it I've long forgotten, but that's all the more reason for reading the article. It's quite interesting

Beautiful, safe, DC

I found this link through Philly-ist.com, listing Pennsylvania as the 9th safest state for children in the country. But check out DC... 3rd safest "state"? Who would've guessed... Think we'll see an influx of parents and parent-wannabes?

Staff Appreciation Week

This week, I found out today, is staff appreciation week. I was delighted by a trip out to lunch and a gift of wine by my esteemed patron and boss. Office luncheons always bring out the best in the attorneys, particularly when stories of childhood memories involving electricity come out. A sample from one attorney: My aunt used to iron and, especially on hot days, would stand in a large bowl of cold water while doing it. Once, -- I was about six -- I found a long wire in my apartment, and decided to try to stick it in the light fixture in our bathroom. The whole floor lost power.

Anyway, electro-therapy aside, make sure you appreciate whatever staff you can tomorrow. And if you're not appreciated, I say walk. You don't need 'em.

No love

Curtesy of Bob, the sad truth about our fair cultured city.

The most interesting part to me, is the fact that every single child stopped to listen. Gives whole new meaning to the innocence of youth.

An Office Memo

Received this morning at work:

Everyone Jump In The Pool!!!
Entry Rules

1) No Entry Fee!
2) Pool must be filled out completely and submitted to Poolmaster, Pat "Bugsy" Barr, by Noon!
3) Entrants will be awarded one point for correct first round predictions, two points for correct second round predictions, etc., and ten points will be awarded for selecting the national champion!
4) First Prize of $75 and Second Prize of $25!
5) Any loss of productivity due to pool entry will be ignored through Final Four weekend; thereafter, the floggings will be resumed until morale improves!

Only in Russia...

This arrived in my Economist Cities Guide: Moscow Briefing last night (the name of which, let's face it, is just supposed to make politics nerds feel cooler about themselves)

Snow finally fell on the city on January 20th, at which many Muscovites breathed a sigh of relief. After a brief dusting in October, the Russian capital has endured an unnervingly warm winter and its highest average January temperatures in 130 years. Russian newspapers have been busily printing articles about how to avoid wintertime depression caused by too much heat and too little snow. “There never were such winters under communism,” Moskovsky Komsomolets newspaper claimed wistfully, partly in jest, but truly enough.

BoldItalix added for emphasis. ;-)