We did a project at school the other day that involved the kids making paper dolls of themselves depicting who or what they will be in 20 years. I asked them the write their names and occupations on the back of the dolls before turing them in, so that I could write that information on a tag that I would tape next to the dolls when I hung them out in the hall. As always, some kids don't listen or follow directions very well, and inevitably E was one of those kids.
Me: (holding up the doll for E to see) E, I can't tell what your doll is, and you didn't write it on the back. What are you planning on being in 20 years?
E: Well, I don't know what they call it, but when I grow up I want to be the first person to walk on Saturn's rings. But, if that's too much for you to write, Miss Martin, you can just go with astronaut.
Me: Umm, yeah. I'm just going with astronaut.
The things this kid comes up with astounds me. You may remember his theory on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. being assassinated with a light saber. This kid is either going to be the next Einstein or the next Unabomber.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Friday night. The game was incredible. The Jazz killed it! We were so lucky (and so spoiled) to get those tickets. Free parking pass, dinner in the sponsor room, 18th row seats and snacks at halftime. I'm not sure I could go to another Jazz game without all of those perks! (Who am I kidding...I'd watch them from the nosebleed with not so much as a piece of gum for a snack!)
Above is the anatomy of our evening told through pictures.
#1 -- Who's that guy with the long, white socks? HOT.
#2 -- Connie and I are just happy to be out on a Friday night (even if our companionship was that of two 13 year old boys).
#3 -- Halftime at the sponsor room...Jake and K.J. think they are GANGSTA! Oh, boy...
#4 -- Ok, so Connie and I think we are, too!
#5 -- The ride home. Period.
Friday, April 4, 2008
That's right, folks! It's game day...Jazz game day! My brother-in-law was gracious enough to give me tickets to tonight's game. All I have to do to repay him is haul two thirteen year old boys with me. Done. Did I mention the seats are on the 18th row? Eighteenth. Row. Potentially close enough for me to throw myself directly at Kyle Korver.