Brush with fame.

I got back from the week of tour bus-ing on Friday and spent most of the morning catching up on all the internet-reading I usually do when I’m supposed to be writing lesson plans and whatnot. When I got to slate.com to check Ask Prudence (whose advice, if you ask me, is often a bit more mean-spirited than I’m comfortable with), lo and behold, what did I see but this article, written by a man a former roommate of mine used to date (to put it delicately, as I’m sure she would). Now, I only met the man himself once, but I still felt a bit more thrilled by this almost brush with almost fame than is perhaps reasonable (although the phrase “going native” in the subtitle makes me a bit queasy).

I was also reminded that Rolf Potts once told my friend R., in a moment in which she was all panic and oh-god-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life, that he hadn’t even gotten his passport until he was something like 27 so she still had plenty of time to figure it out. None of which does much, actually, to assuage my current fears that I’m somehow squandering my youth (facing down 25, egads! which is practically 30! which is practically dead! and doing it all in Texas!) but at least it can serve as a reminder in my more rational moments.

And honestly, nothing can make you feel older or more uncool than being the khaki pant-clad teacher shepherding 14 year olds around a college campus. The undergrads look on in horror.

Two favorite moments from the trip:

We split up when we got to the Galleria in Dallas for one of our evening activities (which I came to think of as running the puppies so they would fall asleep early enough) and each chaperone ended up with 12 or so kids. I got all the card-playing, anime-reading kids I love so very much. The group was deliberating about what to do with our hour and a half or so: “First, let’s go to Starbucks, then we’ll go to the Gap, then we’ll go to a bookstore.” Swoon.

On the walking tour of UT (for which we had one tour guide, one!, for 85 students, the aptly-named Princess) we came to the main mall of campus, from which you can see the state capitol. S., a student whose little chipmunk face always puts me in mind of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore yelled out triumphantly, “Look, it’s the White House!”

* * * *

In other news, I also got caught up on this week’s Lost yesterday and oh thank heavens am I glad something is finally happening on that show again. I’m a little sick of Kate’s wounded-puppy face (this is the girl who tucked her stepfather into bed, then set the house on fire, right?) but at least it wasn’t another episode of Charlie and Hurley’s happy times riding around in the VW van. One of the reasons why I loved the first season oh so very much was that every episode seemed like a crucial link. Every episode revealed some new wierdness (polar bear! killer black cloud! French torture lady!) or established a connection between characters. This season’s begun to feel like so much fluff.

And really, Locke? Computer chess is the best thing you can find to do with yourself when Sayid’s just been shot? Oh, I’m sorry, I was too busy catching typhoid in Oregon Trail and didn’t notice John Wilkes Booth slipping in the side door.

Also, has anyone else been loving 30 Rock as much as I have? That show makes me laugh harder than just about anything else I can remember being on television. And after spending a whole week together on the tour bus I was sick enough of just about everyone on this past week’s trip that I was ready, Liz Lemon-style to fire them all. Hilarious.

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