C-F-L spells idiot

I finally bought new filters for my vacuum after the CFL lightbulb and mercury disaster.

What? I never told you about how mercury got into our house? Pull up a chair, it's going to take a while.

So, I was being wonderful and bought a new hanging light for our house. It was handmade and it came from a seller on Etsy, see:

Oh, sorry. That's Raible. Wrong picture. She's a light in our life, and definitely one of the reasons mercury in the house could be super-detrimental.

Ahh, there it is. This lamp is one of those that involves yarn, glue, patience and finesse. It couldn't be that difficult to make, but as a Christmas present, I thought it would be lovely for our living room, so I purchased it. What can go wrong with a new lamp, right?

Oh. You just wait.

Warning signs should've gone off in my head when the box arrived. The lamp was packed by a child of 3. This, alone, should've tingled my Spidey-senses. Sitting inside the box was the light. The balloon was still inflated, to help keep the yarn and structure in tact, I'm sure, but that's all that was in the lamp. There was no stuffing, no newspaper, no Styrofoam peanuts, not handy plastic bags full of air, and no bubble wrap (everybody's favorite and noisiest way to ship). It was all by its lonesome, placed in a large box that held the woman's winter clothes. 

Yes. The box was older and in not-so-good condition, with Sharpie hand writing all over it. 

I'm surprised I even got the light in one piece, or at all.

I gave the woman a neutral rating on Etsy. Not only was the packing a bit off, but the light didn't come with the light kit that she said she would send. After the brown neutral sign was clicked, she messaged me concerned. The dialogue went something like this:

"Why, oh, why have you forsaken me? You can't rate people realistically on sites like these. You can only place positive ratings, otherwise you will be banned, hated and unfriended," she wrote. "I wish you would've told me that you did not get the light kit! If I send you the light kit, will you give me a positive rating? Pretty please with cherries and Truvia on top?"

"Ok, fine."

And so, a few days later, an envelope arrived. A simple packing envelop that you send paper in, or perhaps documents you don't really care about -- say, blackmail photographs. There was no cushion. It was not marked fragile. Steph opened it because it was the light kit.

But it wasn't just the light kit...

In the kitchen, she cut open the envelope and to her dismay there was a broken light bulb in it, it's glass shaking around at the bottom. But it wasn't just any light bulb, mind you. It was a broken CFL light bulb. The kind that has mercury in it. You know, the toxin that can cause The Mad Hatter's Disease. 

Silver glitter poofed out. These were not cremated unicorn remains, people. Oh, no. It was the mercury powder that was inside the light bulb. All over. Contaminating. 

Now who, I ask you...who in their right mind would send a light bulb in the mail, especially in an unprotected envelope that isn't marked fragile? ESPECIALLY ONE THAT IS KNOWN TO HAVE MERCURY ON THE INSIDE!

What. The. What. 

It took us an hour to clean up the mess. We sealed items into zip lock bags. We wore latex gloves so we wouldn't handle the mercury. We walked around the kitchen and living room with tape so we could use the sticky side to pick up the mercury dust. We had to make sure our puppies weren't around so they wouldn't track the mercury around. The windows had to remain open and the heat turned off so we didn't circulate the mercury throughout the house. Luckily, it was a mild winter, otherwise that would have been torture. We had accidentally vacuumed it up before we realized that was a no-no, so I had to clean out the vacuum parts since it is of the bag-less variety. 

That was how we spent a Friday evening. 

The lady who sent the hateful package received quite a nasty email, but it was too late on Etsy to tell the world that she was an idiot that ships light bulbs filled with mercury in the mail.

What does she do on the side? Send anthrax?

Raible wakes up: A photo essay

Inflation v. Insulation v. Installation

Today's teacher story is a lesson in vocabulary.

We've all been in the wrong when it comes to word choice, and don't you deny it. I'm sure your parents have a story about you cutely misusing a word until it becomes a part of your family's own vernacular.

We were reading a story about Mit Romney and his millions in a story about the richest presidents. Read it here from Tween Tribune, the foremost journalistic website in fluffy news that's always classroom appropriate. What can I say, if you clicked on the link and groaned at me...I'm dealing with sixth graders, yo. Give me a break.

George Washington was mentioned in the article about still being the richest president with 60,000 acres and all, but Mit Romney could be in the top four if you included inflation. I mean, we all could afford 60,000 acres if we went back in time with our change and handed it over.

But what'll you do?

After the article was finished, there were question marks floating above my students' heads because the word inflation was used.

"Is inflation the pink stuff that goes in between the walls?" one of them asked.

"No," I said, and before I could explain, another student chimed in.

"No, the pink stuff is installation!" she cried out.

"Stop it," I cried out, my hands in the air, "Please stop before it's too late! You're getting all these words wrong!"

Okay, so I wasn't that dramatic, at least, not then. You never know with me on any given day. I had to quiet down the room to explain to them that they were getting three different words confused.

"Inflation happens when prices rise, insulation is what goes in your house and an installation happens when you get a new stereo."

A collective, resounding sigh of "ooohhhh" hummed through the air, and I had successfully put out another fire.

Doing the dishes

Someday I'll have a dishwasher, but until then I have help.

Poor Yurtle

His arm has been missing for a while now, but the first time it was torn off, I sewed it up with yarn. He is now the go-to for outside play.

Snow Girls

Paper Tweet #3

It may not necessarily mean I'm published, but...

I write for a random website called Ficly. It allows people to post short fiction and then you can read and comment on other people's fiction. What makes this site different than others is that you can write prequels/sequels to other people's stories -- so the creativity is boundless.

Sometimes, a story will get featured on the site. I have never really paid attention to this...until now, when one of my stories was featured. It doesn't necessarily mean I'm published, but it feels nice that someone took notice of something I wrote.

"The Thing That Betty Has" was only viewed 27 times, which isn't too bad, but that alone gave me the courage to submit the story to an anthology about haunted objects. As much as I love a good literary novel, I'm having fun sinking back into my speculative fiction roots. It's just way more fun.

Paper Tweet #2

This looks like it's going to be my last post of 2011. Unlike other websites, magazines and blogs, I'm not going to reminisce about the year that has been. Instead, I'm going to post, what I believe will be a fun addition to the website, another Paper Tweet. 

And for good measure, a mustache:

Magnet Letters!

Why haven't I ever thought of this before?

Paper Tweet #1

"Hey, watch your mouth!"

My first year at the middle school I currently teach at, the whole building was under construction. This wasn't a big deal except for one thing: We lost access to teacher-only bathrooms.

Teachers now had to shed their dignity and use the bathrooms the kids were using. I hated this for many reasons.

Even though the bathroom was right next to my classroom, the convenience did not outweigh the cost, and that cost was my own dignity.

Teacher's (well, most) drink coffee. Coffee is out elixir to dive into the morning at full speed. For some of us, teaching is a performance (except math teachers) and we need the energy. Coffee is also a diuretic. It makes you go.

During a period when I had no students in my room, I decided it was safe to attend the obnoxiously public bathroom. It was empty. I was safe. I chose the clean handicap stall (because middle school boys like to pee all over the seat when it's down, which is also highly frustrating, but they do have some assemblance of little souls and don't ruin the handicap stall). I sat down and started to go potty when three or four middle school boys decided to infiltrate my calm. That's when the ungainly dialogue started:

"Oh gawd, it smells like s#@$ in here!"

There were some other choice phrases uttered, as well. Ones that don't bear repeating.

Here I was, a teacher, in close range of middle schoolers using rough language and what was I going to do? Call them out?

"Hey, watch your mouth!"

I was not going to say anything, lest it be known that I was the one in the stall making the bathroom smell like $#!*. Instead, I kicked up my legs and had pressed my feet against the stall door so they wouldn't see my adult-looking shoes. I had to hide. I sat like that for a few seconds, raising a fist and cursing the lunch monitors for letting them leave the cafetorium to use the bathroom. Don't they realize that us teachers have nowhere to go? We are like open-range antelopes on the African plain.

Luckily, that was the last time I had to use the bathroom. Since then, I had surgery and I don't go anymore. There was no use waiting until after spring break to use an adult-only bathroom.

"You committed a Mr. Williams!"

I remember listening to stories from my aunt about when she was in high school. Apparently, one of her teachers would kick his foot up on the desk or chair. He would lean on his knee, pick his nose and put the boogers in the cuff of his pants!

Ok, sure, sometimes a teacher gets a booger, and maybe he is out of tissues, so he need to discreetly use a thumb or toe, but to kick his leg up on the desk and, in front of rows of your students, drop those snot crusts into the up-turned fold of his pants? So, they go with him everywhere?

I don't think I give my students enough ammo to strike me down, or tell horrid stories about me behind my back. Not now. 

But, there was this one time that I might have, perhaps, given some kids a good wad of ammo. They probably still talk about it today, now that they're all in their 20's, and groan and say, "Ugh, you just committed a Mr. Williams." 

And what is a Mr. Williams, you might ask?

It was my first semester of teaching, and I got a wonderful gig at the high school in my current district. There weren't desks in my classroom, but tables. There were two kids per table, and I was sitting at a table in the front of the room. There were two girls sitting at this table. They were all listening to me as I read aloud to them.

That's when it happened. It wasn't loud, mind you, and most of the students probably had no clue what was going on. My bottom threw out a silent-but-deadly toot. It was no big deal, right? Everyone does it. Except this one, while I read, began to creep. It creeped hard. Up my nose. In my mouth. Into my pores. It was bad. I tried to ignore it, but for some reason, the sheer awfulness of the situation began to strike me as funny. In my head, I realized I had committed the sin of being that teacher. This was funny to me. And so I started to laugh.

I laughed hard. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't read. I forced my mouth around the words, but my cheeks just wouldn't let me complete the words. I placed the book over my face and continued to laugh.

"What's so funny, Mr. Williams?" they asked.

"Oh, I just farted, and it smells like rotten death. I can't help it, but I think it's hysterical!"

I couldn't say that! When did a teacher admit to a bodily function? I couldn't give myself up like that. I had my dwindling dignity to hold onto. 

So, I just told them, "Oh, something just struck me as funny."

"What is it? What struck you as funny?"

They never ask questions about the homework, but they ask why I'm laughing? It was so unfair. I had no good excuse. "I just thought of something funny from earlier today," I said.

"What is it?" they kept asking.

"Oh, don't worry about it." 

By then, my fart had turned into that socially awkward person that just doesn't know when to leave. My laughter, at that point, was finally starting to die down, but not without the loss of my innocence. The two girls who were sitting at the table that I was sitting on gave me a dirty look, and that dirty look said: "We know what you're laughing at, and we don't think it's funny." 

I'm sure the news spread after class. "Did you smell Mr. Williams?"

"Oh. My. Gawd," they would reply. "Did he invoke the god of death, or what?"

And a good friend would come up. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you know Mr. Williams?" the others would ask.

"Yeah, I've heard of him. People say he's an amazing teacher and that they want to be just like him."

"Well, not anymore. He farted in class, it smelled terrible and he just laughed at it!"

The girls would just roll their eyes in disgust. And then, if they ever farted in public around each other, they would say, "Ugh, you just committed a Mr. Williams. Say you're sorry!"

Now, eight years later, the high school kids are probably still calling a public fart a "Mr. Williams." At this point, they don't know who Mr. Williams was, but the term is probably stuck in their school lingo, one of those school-wide slang terms. We say it, but we don't know where or how it originated. 

I totally re-read "Bag of Bones" by Stephen King

When I found out A&E was making a mini-series from Stephen King's "Bag of Bones," I was like, what? I haven't read that since I was a young pup, when it was probably totally inappropriate for me to read it!

I decided to re-read it before the movie came out. When the thought first occurred to me, oh, a few months ago, that's when I should've read it. Instead:

I pulled it off the shelf and decided to read it the week before it airs. 

That is just so like me. 

I'm also a slow reader. It was not going to be easy.

Then, I started doing something I never do when it comes to books I own -- I started highlighting passages, and then I started writing, in pencil, next to those passages. Books have always been sacred to me. Writing in them just seemed sacriligeous. Except for school books I owned. Those were FAR from important to me...well...they were important, but...oh, nevermind...

It felt liberating to write in one of my books. Not too liberating, though. If I wanted to go absolutely crazy, I would've written in Sharpie. Or at least pen. Using a Sharpie is what wild men use. The serious reader, the one that writes in every book and then writes a paper about it, and then publishes said paper. And teaches a college lit. class. That crazy man.

Or as we will call them: Cray-cray. 

I'm not necessarily going to write a paper, but the act of highlighting and writing in the book isn't speeding up the process, so why am I doing it? It feels intelligent, I think that's why I'm doing it. After teaching middle school kids to do this and watching them, well, not, it was nice to see me be a cognitive reader.

See exhibit A below:

The good new is, I was able to get through the book just in time for the mini-series. I got home after eating dinner at a friend's house, I curled up on the couch, and I flipped on A&E, a channel I never have on. Then, as Pierce Brosnan traipsed around stage in his "return to TV" I realized HOW BORED I WAS! The dumb teleplay writer decided to take so many liberties with the story that it was ridiculous. 

I fell asleep at about 10:20 p.m. 

I hate it when writers take ANOTHER writer's work and take major liberties and changes up a whole bunch of stuff. The things that were changed didn't even matter and they should've been left alone. 

Boo! I was also mad because I plowed through that book in vain. 

I also decided that it shouldn't have ever been made into a movie. It was more of a book-book, not a movie-book, like, say, "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." 

NaNoWriMoWinner!

50,381 words. I missed only two days. The second book in the series I'm writing isn't finished yet, but I think I learned a much greater lesson.

HOW TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!

Well, at least the discipline I would need in order to take over the world. I've learned a few things this month of November:

One of them is that having bronchitis and, then, pneumonia, is not fun, and that sometimes, the weird light-headedness that comes with both can offer great ideas for writing. One Friday night, while my head floated around the room, it felt like helium was all up in my head, I pounded out about 2,100+ words. And they were good. I read some aloud to Steph and she seemed to like them. She doesn't even like to be read to...

Another thing I learned about myself? I also enjoy a giant mug of tea, very British, I know, while I write and I don't even put sugar in it. I have learned, while writing like a maniac, that I can enjoy tea plain. We have a box of Roastaroma that I particularly enjoy. It's like decaf coffee, but not made from beans.

Another thing I learned? I can work and write regardless of what time, what location, as long as I stay dedicated. I didn't get creatively fatigued. If anything, writing everyday was creatively rejuvenating. Even while hanging out with friends, I would begin to panic. "OMG! I haven't written yet today, I need to go!" The last time I tried to NaNoWriMo, I got all distracted and only committed to 16,000 or so words. I don't even know why. I have grown up a lot since then.

Since Nov. 30, I haven't worked on the book, which is stupid, I know, but I needed a little break. I'll return here shortly, after this brief interruption. I need every month to be NaNoWriMo, that way I would refrain from using any kind of excuse.

But I did neglect ye old website, so that wasn't so great. Now, if only I could figure out a way to do both with equal amounts of zest...

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's been a creative month here at My Bucket of Parts, the problem is...you haven't seen any of it. I've had to neglect a lot of what I do on this website to hunker down and work on National Novel Writing Month. As of today, I am at 41,000+ words and still going strong.

 I'm thankful that I have so many outlets to be creative through, and most of them don't cost me anything. May you be creative, too. 

I'd like to dedicate this post to...

Myself! Squee!

The month of November has been dubbed NaNoWriMo. This means National Novel Writing Month. It was started by a guy named Chris Baty and the first one took place during the month July, 1999. He moved it to November because it's a sad, boring month, and November needs something inspiring attached to it.

The goal is to reach about 50,000 words ("The Great Gatsby"-sized) of a novel, either by completing the novel or having written the first 50,000 words of the novel. I've got a feeling I'm just going to have written the first 50,000. But, if you've got that much, you win. Anyone who gets that far is a winner.

I participated in 2008, but I failed only making it to 16,000 words of a book I had been wanting to start. This past summer, I finally finished that book (which needs some major editing). When October came around and I started hearing more about NaNoWriMo, I knew I wasn't going to be a part of it. I still had the first book of a (so far, planned) trilogy to work on. You can't write the second book until you're completely happy with the first one, right?

And then, on Oct. 31, last minute, I decided, "Screw it. I'm going to start Book 2." I had no plan. I really had no idea where I really wanted to GO with Book 2. I told a friend on Twitter that I had changed my mind about NaNoWriM,o and I was going to do it by saying this:

I have decided to #nanowrimo this year. I think it's my sanity all dressed up as confidence for Halloween.

Here's the thing with me and writing. It takes discipline. Guess what I lack? Yup. Discipline. So, why did it take over two years to write the first book? Discipline. 

And then, I started writing Book 2. The first week, I had this unbelievable itch to write. I had to. I had this OCD mentality about it. If I didn't get to do it, I was going to freak out. Each evening, the first week, I made sure I had my computer up and running so I could write. By the time the second week hit, we would be at a friend's house for dinner and I would say to Steph, "We need to go. I haven't NaNoWriMo'd tonight." 

Even if I'm not quite sure where I want to go with the story that day, I sit down and write. Some days it's really easy and the words fly out of me. Other days, it's incredibly difficult and I catch myself nodding off because it's so late. If it's one of the late nights, I just make sure I get to the minimum word count for the day, which is 1,667 words. The minute I do, it's a huge relief. By that point, though, I'm usually awake again on a second wind and I write some more. 

It hasn't been uncommon for me to stay up past midnight writing. 

I have even set up a spreadsheet to help me with characters, plot-points and word count numbers. The minute I introduce a new character, I enter their name and a short description in the column. I have never been so precise. 

If anything, NaNoWriMo has taught me that I can be very disciplined if I need to be, and it also removes the difficulty of it. So much of writing is just doing it, but you can ask anyone else and they'll tell you that they find ways to become distracted. I am one of those people, but luckily for the month of November I have become dedicated to it, and I hope that I will take this dedication that I've learned about myself, this discipline, and use it further, because quite honestly, I would like to see these things and print.

And so do you.

You just don't know it yet. 

It's swaggering...

My students hear all the time that I used to write for the campus newspaper when I was in college. They hear me say it, and I'm sure they know I'm legit because I kind of know what I'm talking about when it comes to teaching them the trade, but today I shattered the silence and shared one of the stories (it was about chewing tobacco) with them today and it was swaggering...

Um, yeah...

As I read the story aloud, I came to this sentence:

After I read that sentence, I thought to myself, "That doesn't sound right." Well, that's because:

And if you look at the definition of the verb:

So, apparently, in all my amazing reporter ways, I had a sentence published that tells the reader that the statistics of oral cancer walk around with a defiant strut. That oral cancer statistics can brag very noisily. I never did meet an oral cancer statistic that I liked. They're not very humble, are they?

Besides that AP Style fail, and another sentence in the story that's a bit jumbly, it's not really that bad of a story. If you would like to take a look at it yourself, I have provided it here for your viewing pleasure. 

Quit being such a laxative!

World-wide Interweb, it has been too long!

Have you missed me? Did you even realize I was gone? You probably have no clue I exist. It says this site has been visited over 9,000 times, but how many times has that been an accidental search by someone in China?

I'm a bore and not famous yet, but I'm working on that. In a very passive-aggressive way. As of now, those passive aggressive tendencies have been focused in a more aggressive sense by working my little typing fingers to the bone. I have joined many across the country in an attempt to commit to a novel during the month of November.

Ah, yes, National Novel Writing Month is upon us again. We are 9 days into it, and I have yet to pound out my 1,667 words for the night, but do not fret, my pet, I will be whittling away the story yet again in an hour or so. I think I'll eat first.

But until I do, I thought I would share an anticlimactic, but amusing teaching moment. It's like I've just put a platter in front of your face and I'm about to pull off that shiny-dome-lid-thing and say, "ta da!"

The New Insult

The latest tale is about the birth of a new insult. Now, I don't go around insulting my students because I'm mean. This is actually a "slam" that came about on accident. I told a few students last Friday that the day was going to be lax, as in relaxing, as in, not too stressful. Then, I looked at a student and said, "It sounds like laxative, doesn't?"

And then it appeared! My latest insult:

"Quit being such a laxative!" I yelled at my student, and we both looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.

"Can I write that on the board?"

"No! I do not need the principal to come into my room and see that!"

Oh, how my face was red from laughing.

My Bucket of Likes: September

If you're noticing that my latest update of My Bucket of Likes is late, it's because September was lame in the "likes" department. I had to scrounge for my likes.

The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness was a book I stumbled upon because the title was really weird. I mean, "The Knife of Never Letting Go"? If you read the book, it'll make total sense, of course, but the title, alone, got me. I also found this in the young adult section, which has become a favorite haunt of mine in the library. The story is written in first-person present tense (what I think is a very difficult voice to write in) and, even better, it's written in dialect. Because of the dialect, I wanted to listen to the audiobook version instead, and I did, for pretty much the first 300 pages. The narrator did a good job, but I couldn't take it anymore -- the narrator goes over board after awhile and he does so many dramatic pauses that it feels like I'm listening to "Atlas Shrugged." On the eve of giving up the book, I decided to at least give the actual book a try, now that the dialect was "invisible" to me. The story is about a young boy who is days away from becoming a "man." He finds out the town he's grown up in isn't what it seems, so he escapes. He also stumbles upon a girl, something he hasn't seen before, because all the girls/women have died in his hometown. It's a journey of friendship and trepidation, but it's also a little slow at times...and it was even slower listening to it. I made myself sit down and finish the book one Sunday at the library (so I didn't have to check it out) and by golly, I actually found myself really enjoying the book. I can move on now to the second novel, which I won't be listening to, by the way.

Freegal is a service that our library provides. Just by being a member of the library, I get access to three free downloads a week. Now, three downloads doesn't sound like much to you, I'm sure, but when they feature some of the recent albums I've been wanting from The Script, Augustana and Gavin Degraw (not to mention all the singles from Glee), why not wait a few weeks just to own an album? Sure it takes me a few weeks to get the entire album, but for free? I've been in love with Freegal for longer than just September.

Google Music Beta will someday open up their service to everyone and probably charge, but until then, I'm enjoying my own personal library wherever I go (for free). Sadly my new cell phone (already in the likes bucket for October) only runs Android 2.1, otherwise I would be able to stream my music from my phone, too. I can create school-appropriate playlists, or just listen to whatever album I want from my collection wherever I may roam. I know iTunes has that whole "sharing from computer to computer" function, but with Google Music, I don't need to turn on the main computer for it to work. And since I'm a PC and not a Mac, that whole iCloud-thing isn't going to work for me. 

Parenthood on NBC is the only show on network TV (or TV at any point in personal history) that actually makes me cry. Me! I don't shed a tear, but every Tuesday night, around 10:45 p.m., yup, there I go. Stupid show! I bemoan. But I can't help it. It's so funny and serious and real without any of that terrible melodrama so many shows lather on. And, sure, I love some good melodrama (or zombies, so yeah, there's another hint to what will be on my bucket of likes list for October), but to see something so real? Amazing. Obviously it's a little hyped up...but for TV? Pretty realistic. I'm waiting for it to get nominated for an Emmy for best drama -- but as long as AMC shows exist, we all know that won't happen. Until then, I'll always be an honorary Braverman. 

So, there you have it. The lamest Bucket of Likes list thus far, but you have to admit...there's a little heart in it, isn't there? 

Last pictures from my Env2 phone before the big switch...