I have seen the "I am from ..." poem on several sites now, and I have enjoyed reading them all, but I'm not going to try my hand at it. Funny, I know this is a writing prompt, and therefore anyone should be able to do it, but it was given to my little one, K, to do when she was in seventh or eighth grade, and I was so moved by what she wrote that I can only and forever associate the prompt with her response to it. It didn't have the depth that I'm seeing in some of yours, of course, because she was a kid, but it captured her childhood as she had experienced it. She took it a bit more literally, on the surface, because each line was devoted to a specific place: our house, my sister's, each of her grandparents' houses, our vacation spot. But beyond that, it captured what each of those places and the people in it really meant to her. I read it over again last night and cried again. So that's why I'm not doing it for me. Maybe someday.
So I just went to leave a comment for the empress, and she had this quiz posted, and I thought "Hey, I LOVE Star Trek!" so I tried it. Get this:
Your results:
You are An Expendable Character (Redshirt)
| An Expendable Character (Redshirt) |
| 70% |
| Beverly Crusher |
| 45% |
| Chekov |
| 40% |
| Geordi LaForge |
| 40% |
| Will Riker |
| 40% |
| James T. Kirk (Captain) |
| 35% |
| Jean-Luc Picard |
| 35% |
| Mr. Scott |
| 30% |
| Leonard McCoy (Bones) |
| 25% |
| Uhura |
| 25% |
| Deanna Troi |
| 25% |
| Spock |
| 22% |
| Data |
| 20% |
| Worf |
| 10% |
| Mr. Sulu |
| 0% |
|
Since your accomplishments are seldom noticed,
and you are rarely thought of, you are expendable.
That doesn't mean your job isn't important but if you
were in Star Trek you would be killed off in the first
episode you appeared in.
 |
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
I don't know what would have been a good result, really. Crusher, I suppose, although the question that I would have gotten 100% on -- Do you want to sleep with Captain Picard? -- wasn't on the list. Anyway, this isn't so much a reflection of my personality as it is of my current work situation. The hits just keep on coming
I couldn't leave my comments either, so I'll say here: Politics? Goodness gracious me. No, really, what I may or may not decide to do after retiring .... I don't know. But to take a public stance against one's employer is pretty much suicide, especially in that the perception would be that I am simply a disgruntled employee. Can't be taken seriously as long as this is still my job, and it isn't right for me to go just yet.
I just went (after school) and picked up the bookcase I ordered two months ago, and, not unlike last month's IKEA trip, I ran a serious risk of decapitation on the ride home. Now, when I ordered it, and they said I should pick it up at the store instead of having it delivered, I showed the guy my car. My car is pretty much exactly like the toy cars we used to make out of shoeboxes and jar-tops when I was a little kid, same shape, same size. Both here and at IKEA, the men who load the stuff for you looked at my car and scratched their heads. Each time, I drove with a heavy box wedged in, inches from my head. Getting this thing out of the car was a challenge, too, but as I am not strong enough to move any of the heavy stuff I move, I did it with leverage, as I usually do. Now, of course, I don't have the energy to clean it off and set it up in the family room, but at least I've got it here. I'll work on it over the weekend.
So I pulled some books to take with me into exile this morning, some I'd never read before, like How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents, and some I wanted to read again, like Rebecca. ("Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again." Ahhhhh.) I was also thinking how cool it would be to watch movies, but I don't think I could get away with that, except then I remembered that I could probably watch a bunch of the Shakespeare stuff I have, and Eugene O'Neill. Who would argue with that? The Philistines who seem to be making the rules don't even know who Eugene O'Neill was, I'm sure; I'd bet on it.
It's the MIL's birthday today, and we're all in a frenzy over making sure that each one of us calls her, although I'll wait until the Hubs gets home; after all, she's his mother. This calling her or the FIL on their birthdays is a huge deal to her. She doesn't so much complain if somebody misses the call, she just cries. Well, maybe she complains to her son. What's the harm in calling her, anyway, if it makes her happy? I wonder if the other grandchildren call, too; they seem pretty weird to me sometimes. I know both of mine have already made their grandmother happy. My mission lies before me.
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I'm watching Ellen
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Sweet Sorrow - 06.12.2007
So ... - 12.19.2006
Christmastime Is Near - 12.18.2006
Fifteen Years - 12.17.2006
A Message From Our Sponsor - 12.16.2006
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