Friday's Five: The Lloyd Dobler Effect

I ran across this blog post recently, describing a group of men in NYC who dressed as Lloyd Dobler, boomboxes blaring "In Your Eyes" above their heads, to celebrate the 20th anniversary edition of the movie Say Anything. I'll pause for a moment while you grapple with the notion that a) yes, it really was 20 years ago and b) there really are people with that much free time.

But I can't blame them for being committed to one of the all-time great movie characters, who famously declared that "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that." Between that statement and his unfailing love for Diane Court, you just can't go wrong with Lloyd.

So in honor of Lloyd Dobler and the 20th anniversary of one of my most-loved teen films, here are five other favorite movies with John Cusack that my husband and I wind up watching every time we stumble onto them:

1. Sixteen Candles (1984): Okay, so Cusack isn't the star of this Molly Ringwald classic, but it's so funny to see him so young as he plays one of the dorky friends to geeky Anthony Michael Hall.
   
   
2. Grosse Point Blank (1997): Cusack stars as a professional assassin returning home for his high school reunion, where he runs into his long lost love (played by Minnie Driver). Chaos, wit and much gun fire ensue, along with a great soundtrack.
   
   
3. Being John Malkovich (1999): This mind-bender of a film includes a rough-looking Cameron Diaz (who knew that was possible?!) and a scene with John Malkovich cross-dressing. Strange and fantastic.
   
   
4. High Fidelity (2000): Another terrific soundtrack accompanies Cusack as he tries to piece together his romantic history (via his top five break-ups) to explain his latest relationship failure. Ah, the mix tape -- how I loved you.
   
   
5. Serendipity (2001): I don't know exactly why we can never turn off this movie when it shows up on TV (including last night) -- maybe I love the idea that what seems like coincidences is actually life leading us to just where we need to be. Or maybe it's the fun of another side-kick role for Jeremy Piven. The movie won't change your life, but it's still worth watching.

Note: The title for this post was shamelessly stolen from the band of the same name, who will be playing in Charlotte next Saturday.

Thursday Soapbox: Magnetic Responsibility

I may or may not have wasted an hour yesterday morning. That's because the magnet school I toured may or may not be there in six months. The building will be there -- goodness knows Wake County needs all the school buildings it has -- but the school, the program, the teachers, the students who make up that building today might be gone. Or not.

As a parent of a rising kindergartner, that's what's making me crazy these days -- the not knowing whether the incoming school board will make little tweaks or sweeping changes to my public school district.

In their quest to be responsive to parents, the newest four members of the Wake County Board of Education -- who will be sworn in on Dec. 1 -- campaigned on promises of a return to "neighborhood schools" and an end to "busing for diversity." I'm not exactly sure what people mean when they use those heavily-loaded phrases, but I do know that a strict neighborhood plan would eliminate or at least severely handicap Wake County's national-award-winning magnet program.

The Wake County Public School System (WCPSS) lists three objectives for its magnet program:

• Reduce high concentrations of poverty and support diverse populations
• Maximize use of school facilities
• Provide expanded educational opportunities

The first bullet point there got a lot of attention during the campaign because "diverse populations" got shortened to "busing" -- and no one likes "busing," even though it's not nearly that simple. The third bullet point is a big part of what draws most parents -- including me -- to consider these schools for our children. Imagining Junius learning about music, art, science, technology, language, leadership and media in elementary school sounds wonderful -- especially when I don't have to pay tuition for him to get it.

But that middle bullet point is one that gets lost in the rhetoric -- and it's one that every taxpayer in this county should care about, regardless of whether or not they have kids in the public schools. Employing a magnet program -- one that lures families from the crowded suburbs into downtown schools or schools in "less desirable neighborhoods" (how's that for a fully-loaded phrase?) -- is a fiscally responsible way to run a district as large as Wake County.

Without the magnet offerings, Wake County would likely return to the challenges seen here in the early 80s before the program began -- the same challenges now facing Charlotte-Mecklenburg, where downtown schools face under-enrollment and suburban schools are bursting at the seams. In a district of nearly 140,000 students that continues to grow by at least 4,000 students a year, despite the recessions, Wake County simply cannot afford to have empty seats.

Unlike Clay Aiken, I'm not planning on calling the new board members "selfish idiots." I'll reserve that judgement until they've had the chance to quit campaigning and start governing. I'm truly hoping that they're not idiots at all -- and that once they get into the substance of the issues facing our schools, they'll realize it's not nearly as simple as they thought.

Personally, I want the new school board members to care about the magnet program because it's been successful for the students in those schools. I want them to hear the voices of the parents of those students, even if those parents don't live in the board members' districts. I want them to find ways to provide the best education possible to all 140,000 kids.

But I know that money -- not student achievement or parent satisfaction -- is the real bottom line. And in tight economic times, I hope the new school board will remember their fiscal responsibility to use the existing facilities in the most efficient way possible -- and that includes maintaining a healthy magnet program in Wake County.

Why I'm Not Good at Online Dating

The fact that I tried on four different outfits -- even though I was running late and my children were running wild -- suggested I was heading out on a blind date.

In truth, it was something much more frightening. An almost-blind dinner date with eight other women. And not just any women -- blogging women. I felt like an impostor, someone who got invited to a secret meeting by accident. Although I was with a friend and had met two of the other bloggers before, the rest were all new to me.

As I got ready, I fretted about looking too mom-ish, looking like I tried too hard, like I didn't try hard enough. What if they write about me afterward on their blogs? Or what if they don't write about me at all? What if they realize that I'm just over here blabbing random things about whatever is on my mind with no ads or marketing or serious focus? What if I get food stuck in my teeth and then smile all through the meal and no one tells me?

Or what if I just take a deep breath and realize that they're all lovely and interesting people who happen to be moms (like me) who enjoy writing (like me).

Breathe in... Breathe out... In... Out...

And so of course, it was all fine. I enjoyed meeting the other ladies, sharing stories, finding small world connections. I think it's something we'll do again -- and thankfully I won't stress out so much next time. Although I am worried that I've violated some sort of blogging code by being the only one from the dinner to write about it. Was there some sort of what-happens-at-blogger-dinner-stays-at-blogger-dinner pledge that no one told me about?

Ugh. Dating is hard.

There's a Reason Babies Are So Cute

Last week, I got the happy email news that a close friend had delivered a healthy baby boy.

To say she's had a challenging pregnancy would be an understatement, so her news brought great relief as well as joy. In addition to a range of craziness at home -- caring for her toddler, listing and selling her home, and working with her husband through a job change -- the last nine months included the following:

• 18 weeks of all day and night "morning" sickness
• 1 bout with the stomach flu
• 1 second trimester hospitalization and surgery for a kidney/bladder blockage
• 12 inches of a coil stent to open the blockage for the remainder of the pregnancy
• 3.5 months of pain and contractions
• 16 weeks of partial bed-rest
• 7 ultrasounds
• 7 days of home quarantine with attack of the H1N1 flu
• 11 hours of induced labor
• 1 epidural that came out and stopped working between the 4 to 10 cm dilation
• 7 pushes

Despite those painful numbers, she still got some beautiful results: 6 lbs. 4 oz. of perfect baby boy. And even though that baby has caused her an awful lot of pain over the past few months, she's already in love with him.

Unlike my friend, I'm really good at being pregnant -- I get enormous and round, but I had it so easy both times (until about week 39). Turns out I'm not so good at the delivery part -- both babies required c-sections to make their entrance into the world (see photo of Junius, fresh after his arrival). I still struggle at times with the fact that my babies' beginnings didn't match up with my Hollywood vision of what delivery would look like -- that dramatic moment when I squeeze my husband's hand, push the baby out, and immediately get to hold him close and love him. (And in that vision, of course, I'm wearing make-up, looking flushed but lovely. And the baby is all clean and beautiful, with no cone-head. And I instantly lose 40 pounds so I can wear my regular jeans home from the hospital. But I digress.)

I know it's a cliche, but my friend's experience reminded me that it doesn't matter how you become a mama, as long as you get to love the baby that makes you one. Whether through c-section or induction or adoption or marriage or fertility treatments or a drug-free birth, those babies arrive in our lives and they love us and they make us love them back. And it's a damn good thing they're so cute -- they have the power to make us forget everything else.

Friday's Five: Pippi's Reading List

I've written a lot about favorite books to read with Junius, but haven't written much about what Pippi likes to read. That's partly because she doesn't sit still for books the way he always has, which is probably (partly) because she's been so much easier to put to bed than he ever was.

So, in my continuing effort not to leave out the Pip, here are five of her favorite books these days -- as she gets older, she's finally starting to request certain stories when we sit in her rocking chair before bedtime, which makes me really happy:

1. The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle: A classic and lovely book -- I'm assuming you've all read it. I think she mostly likes turning the little pages and sticking her finger in the little caterpillar hole-punches.
   
   
2. Ten Wishing Stars by Treesha Runnells and Sarah Dillard: This counting book about sheep wishing on stars at night has ten raised stars with star-shaped cutouts -- and the stars glow in the dark. Again, I think her favorite part is touching the stars.
   
   
3. Baby Faces by Margaret Miller: We like to pretend she can read this one because she's memorized each baby's expression, saying "stinky" and "boo-hoo" and so on. It's way cute.
   
   
4. Corduroy by Don Freeman: Another classic and sweet story. It's probably the longest book she'll sit still-ish for.
   
   
5. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Martin Jr, John Archambault and Lois Ehlert: This alphabet story involves letters racing up and then crashing down from a coconut tree. I don't know why, but "chicka chicka boom boom" is just plain fun to say.

Round 1 Goes to the Pip

Today I thought I would be writing a post about how I spent my first night away from Pippi last night -- I had to be out of town for a meeting, so she and Junius were home with my husband and my in-laws. Although I've spent a few nights away from Juni, it was the first time that Pippi and I slept under different roofs in her entire little life.

But as it turns out, my night away was pretty uneventful for both of us -- and I had to be up so early for the meeting that I didn't even get to enjoy some extra sleep.

So instead, I'm going to write about this cute little outfit (shown at left), which is what Pippi was supposed to wear to preschool today. As it turned out, she wore the pants -- along with the pajama top she'd slept in the night before.

Why? Because she flat-out refused to take off her pajamas. I wasn't here to witness the struggle, but apparently neither my MIL nor my husband could wrestle her out of the jammie shirt. My husband (wisely) determined that it was not a battle worth waging.

After I stopped laughing at the vision of Nonna and Daddy trying to pin down our not-yet-two-but-thinks-she's-a-five-year-old daughter, I tried to figure out two things:

1. What about the cute outfit was so offensive to her? Did she remember that (although it's a Carter's brand) I bought it at Costco? Does she think mixing pink with chocolate brown is too trendy? Was she worried the leggings made her tushie look big?

2. How many battles are she and I going to have about her clothes over the next 16 years? And will I have enough sense to let her win the ones that don't really hurt anything so that I have the energy to conquer her stubbornness in the wars that make a difference?

At the end of the day, it really didn't matter what she wore to preschool today. In fact, some of her toddler clothes aren't so different than her pajamas -- and I'm sure her teachers love her no matter what she has on. But I can see the day coming when what she wears (or doesn't wear) Is going to make a difference in how others see her -- a skirt that's too short, a shirt that's too tight, a face-piercing. Ugh. I am so not ready for her teen years.

So I think I'm going to start working out now. Because clearly I'm going to need to be a lot stronger than she is if I'm going to win the wrestling matches yet to come.

Hark the Sound of Basketball (and Rugby) Season

I know for some of you out there, it's still football season (hi Dad!). But this Carolina girl has already moved on to basketball. The Tar Heels played (and won) their first game on Monday night -- okay, so it was only Florida International, but it still feels good to know the blue and white are back on the court.

In honor of the start of my favorite sports season, I'll share one of the first pieces I wrote for my magazine course while I was studying in Cardiff. We were assigned to cover the local reaction to the start of the Rugby World Cup, hosted in Cardiff that year. Given that I knew absolutely nothing about rugby, I had to take a different approach than traditional sports reporting.

In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, we celebrate March Madness, a month devoted to the great sport of college basketball. As college teams from across the United States compete for the NCAA title, Carolina fans flock to arenas and television sets, decorating their bodies, their homes, their cars, even their pets in support of the Tar Heels.

The enthusiasm reaches a fever pitch during the first weekend in April, when the last teams standing compete the The Final Four. If the Tar Heels have survived from the original field, every bar on Franklin Street, Chapel Hill's main street, welcomes a standing-room-only crowd of blue face paint and Carolina cheers.

In Cardiff, Wales, they celebrate the World Rugby Cup. And althought it's quite some distance across the proverbial pond, the enthusiasm of openting day, as Wales hosted Argentina, felt just like home for this Tar Heel alum.

On Friday, 1 October 1999, I was amazed to see the usually drab, grey Colum Road awash in a vibrant shade of red. Bright red rugby jerseys boasting the WRU [Welsh Rugby Union] logo had replaced the typical full-black European ensemble. Cabs flew Welsh flags from their antennae. Even the bank clerk at Barclay's sported a temporary face tattoo in support of her team. The trains passed by, filled to capacity with more red jerseys to spill into the city. Students wearing Welsh flags as sarongs cheered in the streets. And there were still six hours until kick-off.

By the time the opening ceremony began, every pub in the City Centre fortunate enough to possess even one television was bursting with rugby enthusiasts. The pub crowds joined with fans inside the newly built 72,500-seat Millennium Stadium singing anthems and folk songs, cheering for celebrities and waving their inflated daffodils and red-and-green scarves.

When Welsh performer Max Boyce took the stage, even the rowdy crowd at O'Neill's Pub hushed each other to hear the original verses in his song, then erupted with the familiar refrain in his obvious crowd-pleaser.

The volume of enthusiasm only increased when the players took the field. The crowd around me began chanting, "Wa-les! Wa-les!" But another hush came over the group at the sounds of the Welsh anthem, a patriotic tear trickling down the televised face of one of them team members.

Although it seemed impossible, the start of the game brought even louder and rowdier cheers, But as the game progressed, not all of the cheers were friendly. At the sight of an injured Argentinian player on the field, one pub fan shouted, "Let 'im die!"

As the WRU fought for their 23-18 win and their ninth-straight victory, the cans at O'Neill's never stopped their energetic support of "Henry's Army." And although I understood little of the game of rugby, I did understand the sense of pride felt by the crowds there and throughout the city of Cardiff.

The face painted and jester hats, the radio station ticket-giveaway contests and the closed-off city streets are all symbols of something that every Chapel Hill fan recognises: a true love and loyalty for a sporting team that serves to unite the community. Whether young or old, male or female, city professional or country worker, everyone who cheered for the WRU on Friday enjoyed equal status: victor.