why spelling bees are ridiculous

i flipped the channel to espn one day (in hopes of finding ice skating finals) when i stumbled upon a spelling bee, an actual american national spelling bee which apparently has been going on every year for the past twenty-something years. a spelling bee! on espn! what is this world coming to?

spelling bees are strange. the kids who join are almost all 100% nerds, and the words are stranger still -- strange medical and scientific words that absolutely nothing to do with real life. the whole process is downright surreal and funny that my sister and i actually watched the whole thing.

how it goes:

1. kid (age range: 11-14 years old) steps up to mike and official pronouncer gives a word. the kid has 90 seconds to spell it.
2. kid can ask the word's definition, etymology, and hear a sentence with the word in it.
3. the kid has to pronounce the word right before trying to spell it.
4. kid spells.
5. if he gets it right, applause. if not, a little bell dings and he's outta the game. there's even a crying room at the back of the stage for the kids who lose.

i really don't see the point of spelling bees. first, almost all the words have never been pronounced out loud since words were created. and i don't see the point of knowing how a word is spelled if you don't know what it means and probably won't use it in normal conversation for the rest of your life. and some of these kids actually learn latin to help them in spelling bees. latin! who would they talk with? most of all, what value does a spelling bee add when these kids are looking for a job?

gawd what nerds.

oh, and who's the bigger nerd, the kid who joins the spelling bee or the one who sits in front of the tv watching it for two hours?

lights are on but no one's home

take me anywhere but here.

i look the same as i did last week. no one can tell that i'm any different from the way i was last week.

that's the problem. one can have a broken leg and everyone can tell. having a broken mind and a broken spirit is impossible to see.

the great thing is i feel nothing.

back on this island

eight years after watching the play once on this island for the first time, planning to watch it again left me with a bit of trepidation. i was such a different girl eight years ago, and i was a bit afraid of how much it would affect me again eight years after (or scarier, how little it would matter.)

i should have known by now that trying to recreate the past is the biggest exercise in futility. i tried to get the whole gang to watch it together but i had forgotten that the gang is no longer in college -- one's married, one's in china, one's in rome, one's in singapore, one got tickets for a different date, ad nauseum – and that the gang has different lives already.

thank goodness ma cherie was free, so at least i'd be able to see it with someone who was there with me the first time. the gods must have been smiling at us that night, as we got free upgrades to much better seats in the theater (partially thanks to the ten “brothers” who sat in the balcony with us, who would rather watch a play on a Friday night then hang out in a bar to drink beer.)

the play was as fun as ever. i cried at the parts i wept at eight years ago. and eight years ago, i would have never dreamed that my life would mirror Ti Moune’s. at least she became a tree. i still have to learn to forgive.

Asaka, Ague, Erzuli, Papage, i will dance for you on this island. always.