A Miniscule Mystery, or simply [ . ]

“Ginger, what kind of work do we have today?” I asked my receptionist/assistant detective as I walked into the office. Never mind that my office is actually the spare bedroom of my house, or that there are old bridesmaid dresses stored in the closet, along with the rest of my disguises. I had just finished my morning routine of running five miles and bench pressing 150 pounds, which is a lot if you’re me and have noodle arms that Kraft wanted to feature on a commercial for macaroni. 

“Miss Rossen I—”

“Ginger, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s Joelle. Miss Rossen is what my students called me. And I am an ex-teacher now.”

“Okay…Joelle. I have a really exciting appointment coming in for you at two o’clock today! You are going to soil your pants.”

“That’s gross. Good thing I have fresh ones in the other room. So what is it that is so exciting?”

“There is a client who has requested some help in locating some missing sensitive data. The data is apparently worth a bundle, and the client doesn’t recall where it went. He’s afraid someone may have stolen it.”

“So do you think this will turn out to be more like an episode of Hoarders, and the person has so much crap I’ll die under a stack of forty year old newspapers looking for the data, or do you think it will be more like an episode of Law and Order and I’ll have to prosecute someone for theft?”

“Neither. It’s going to be like an episode of Covert Affairs. Specifically, the one that aired three weeks ago.”

“How do you mean?”

Ginger grinned at me. “The data that you are looking for is contained in a microdot.”

“For real? A microdot? You’re sure the client didn’t say microdog? And really it’s Paris Hilton and she’s misplaced her Chihuahua?”

“No. A real microdot. You know, like they talk about on spy television.”

“GET OUT! This is gonna be so awesome! My high school performed a mystery play once about a missing microdot. Turned out it was hidden in a chocolate chip cookie and the detective ate it.”

“I know, right? You’re big time now, Miss Rossen,” Ginger said brightly.

“Joelle,” I corrected.

“Exactly.”

****

At two o’clock I found myself sitting opposite a sweaty, bald man who had a nose like a mushroom. Don’t think I’m being mean. I’m just stating the facts. And a fact is, I like mushrooms. Just last weekend I barbecued a Portobello and put a grilled peach on top of it. So delicious.

The man was very flustered, and not because I was about to put his nose on the burner. “I just can’t find it!” he said. “Can’t find it anywhere! I looked in all the places I thought I would have put it, but it’s not there. I’m going to lose my grant money!”

“Please calm down, Mr. Sphongos. Can you tell me the nature of this missing data?”

“Yes. It’s research. Ten years of research.”

“On what, if I may ask?”

Mr. Sphongos twitched his nose a bit and then replied “On Swedish education practices. I was funded by the National Education Department to research successful countries, so that we may implement similar practices.”

“I could have saved you ten years. You could have talked to me and in about five hours I could have told you all the things we do wrong in American public education. I’m an ex-teacher. I was homeschooled as a child so I have an interesting perspective on it.”

I tell this story to a lot of people, but they never think I am credible on account of how I look like I’m 16 years old and write ridiculous top stories for fun.

Mr. Sphongos gave a thin grin, then said “Do you think you can help me? I am supposed to submit all my data next week to the board.”

“No problem, Mr. Sphongos. But can I just ask you, why did you shrink your data down to a microdot? Was a USB drive not small enough?”

“I understand your curiosity. See, I was living in Sweden during all my research, and I accessed some information that, well, wasn’t public knowledge. I was afraid that when I boarded the plane and moved back to the United States… I was afraid Swedish officials would confiscate my research. The data is a lot more valuable than you think,” he finished defensively.

“Hey, I don’t judge,” I replied. “If you had misplaced love letters from your first girlfriend, I would have helped you find those. It doesn’t matter what you’re missing. I will find it. With utmost confidentiality. You know, for a fee…” I slid over the contract of agreements with initial costs itemized on the side. A girl has to make a living.

****

Finding a single period amongst a house full of possessions is not any easy task. Looking for a microdot is much like looking for a needle in a hayfield, only harder.

That’s why I brought in reinforcements.

The next day I arrived at Mr. Sphongos’ apartment, which was full of empty boxes and scattered belongings. His method of search was rather frantic and not very orderly. He seemed to be living out of a suitcase, which makes sense, I guess. If I just came back from a foreign country and had to turn in ten years of work to my boss the next week, I wouldn’t worry so much about coordinating my curtains and paint chips either.

I would have brought Ginger along, but considering she is just a sophomore at the local university, she had statistics class that day. I told her she could join me the next time. I was expecting my associate to show up shortly. I had met Ashley in school as a child. The teacher had asked us to write a paragraph about our summer, and when I wrote mine in code, Ashley looked on, intrigued.

“What’s it say?”

“I’ll make a second copy for you and you can crack it.”

“Cool. But do you think the teacher will get mad that you didn’t write in English?”

“I did write in English. It’s coded, but they are English words. Besides, I have a suspicion that our teacher may be a CIA agent, so I’m testing her.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, do you have a sheep farm?” I asked nonchalantly.

“No.”

“Hmmm. Okay then.”

****

Just as I had shifted Mr. Sphongos’ things to one side of the apartment, in order than we could manage the processed objects and the non-processed objects, Ashley came in. She was wearing aviator sunglasses that had those sorts of lenses that allow for people to use as a mirror and pick their teeth. She had a baby on her hip.

“I know what you’re thinking and don’t even worry about it,” Ashley began. “I may have an infant with me, but I am all business. This kid is better trained than a German Shepherd. Sawyer wouldn’t dare interrupt an important investigation.”

I watched as she tucked the child into his carrier and put him in a corner, introduced herself to Mr. Sphongos, and then gave me a hug.

“Long time no see,” she said.

“So you have kids now?”

“Yep. Three of them. Two boys and a girl named Sydnee.”

“Is that a high school tribute to Alias?” I asked.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. Let’s get to work.”

Because Ashley does top secret investigative work that I can’t really speak of, she is well versed in microdots and had brought along with her several incredibly strong microscopes. These scopes were so high tech that they were able to read writing had it been written on a grain of sand. They were also worth a lot of money. The microscopes may or may not have been borrowed without consent from the State Department. I can’t really say.

We began a method of scrutinizing every square centimeter of everything Mr. Sphongos owned. Through the scope, my eyes processed every detail of many documents and files and books and pages. I once got excited that I had found something, but it turned out to be just a booger.

After scanning 298 pages of Tolkien’s The Hobbit, looking for a period that wasn’t like the others, I started to get bored and thus decided to initiate some conversation. Ashley was two feet away looking at some file folders.

“I’m sure glad Mr. Sphongos isn’t a high school health teacher,” I whispered.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Do you remember junior year with Miss Ray? And how she had that four inch binder full of nothing but pages and pages of periods to show how many sperm a man produces in a lifetime?”

“Oh yeah, I remember that!”

“Well, just imagine if Miss Ray had misplaced a microdot in her classroom. I would not want to search a thousand pages of pseudo-sperm dots looking for it.”

Ashley nodded her head in agreement.

I spent thirty minutes examining a calendar from 2009 until I started talking again.

“So, Mr. Sphongos…you’re Greek, right?”

“I am, how’d you know?”

“I’ve studied root words and have a fascination with etymology.”

            “Clever.”

            “Not really. But you’ve never lived in Greece, correct?”

            “No, I haven’t.”

            Ashley joined in. “What was life in Sweden like?”

            “Difficult at first. I had to dye my hair and eyebrows blond, because people looked at me like I was a criminal and would never answer my questions.”

            Ashley pondered this. “I don’t think John Stamos had that problem when he moved to LA. Actually, now that I think about it, in his first television role he played a delinquent teen who stole a car.”

            My stomach interrupted the conversation with a growl that would have scared off Goldilocks.

            Mr. Sphongos eyed me. “Shall we take a lunch break? Do you like Mexican food? I could make you a burrito or a quesadilla. I’m sorry I don’t have much else in my cupboards.”

“Oh no, that’s fine. I really like burritos,” I said.

****

            As we sat around the table in the kitchen for lunch, Ashley began feeding a bottle to Sawyer. He had cute baby cheeks and would giggle every time I made a fish face.

            Ashley and I began asking Mr. Sphongos questions about Swedish food, mainly “Do those gummy fish really come from Sweden? What’s the story on those?”

            Mr. Sphongos launched into a story about a candy store he visited once. While talking about kanderade lakrits and gelehallon, he sat our burritos plated down in front of us.

            “So gelehallon…is that like Gyllenhall, specifically Jake?” I was trying to make a dumb joke, of course, but just as Ashely brought her burrito to her lips, something unexpected happened.

Mr. Sphongos screamed, “WAIT! DON’T EAT THAT!”

Ashely dropped the burrito onto her plate and it splashed into some salsa.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s just. The tortilla. It has those little brown spots on it. We didn’t scan it for the microdot.”

“You think you placed the microdot on a tortilla?” I asked.

“Well, no. But I might have. Maybe I did it when I was cooking one night.”

I am just guessing, but Mr. Sphongos may have also seen that high school play where the microdot is hidden in a chocolate chip cookie.

“Mr. Sphongos, do you remember when and where you bought these tortillas?” Because like he brought them over on the plane from Sweden.

“Yesterday. On my way home from visiting your office. At Winco.”

I smiled patiently. “But you were missing the microdot before that. If you bought the tortillas after having misplaced the microdot, there’s no way you could have hidden it on a tortilla. Unless, of course, you sent flour to a woman in Mexico.”

“Oh. Okay, you’re right,” he said, relieved. “Continue with your meal.”

After we were done eating, we went back to the living room. I opened a box to discover it held dishes wrapped in newspaper.

“Hey Mr. Sphongos, I found your bowls!” Now he could stop eating Corn Flakes off of plates.

When he looked up to see me holding a bowl in one hand and a sheet of newspaper in the other, his eyes got wide, he stopped breathing, and I basically thought he was having a cardiac arrest.

“Oh no. No no no no no,” Mr. Sphongos choked out.

For a second I thought I had done something offensive, like discover the bowl that his old cat had drowned in or something.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Ashley looked up from her work.

“Looking at that newspaper has reminded me of something dreadful. I gave away a newspaper to the neighbor who lives in the apartment next door.”

I looked at him patiently. Reader, if you are also a person who regrets getting rid of paper items, I suggest you do not subscribe to any magazines, or you might end up like my dad and have twenty years worth of National Geographic stacked up in the dust of your old shop.

“Don’t you see,” he continued. “I may have put the microdot on that newspaper. When I packed to leave Sweden, I placed the microdot on page 47 of Great Expectations. When I got to Oregon, I transferred the microdot somewhere else. Actually, I moved it about nine different places because I couldn’t decide on the best location. And then I…celebrated the end of my research and return to the states with…a little wine. When I woke up the next day I couldn’t remember what I had done with the microdot. I could have put it anywhere! Like on that newspaper!”

“Okay,” I said calmly. I had gathered more of the picture, mainly that Mr. Sphongos was a lush who liked to read old literature. “Let’s just go over and see if your neighbor still has the newspaper.”

 We went out to the apartment door and I knocked.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Miss Hadari. Her first name is Heidi, but I don’t think we’re on a first name basis yet,” replied Mr. Sphongos.

“Okay.”

The door opened and there stood a woman in sheepskin slippers.

“Hi, Miss Hadari,” I said. “I’m Mr. Sphongos’ friend and I was wondering if you still had that newspaper he gave you. It had an article in it about my uncle and Mr. Sphongos was supposed to cut it out for me but forgot.”

Instantly Miss Hadari’s eyes narrowed.

“You want the newspaper back?” she snapped. Her tone of voice may as well have indicated that I donated a kidney to her and wanted it back now too. “You can’t have it. I need it so I can clip coupons. I’m on a budget. I don’t like to waste money. Last week I saved 60% on three bottles of aloe vera gel,” she finished proudly.

“Oh, that’s fine,” I said. “If we could just get the newspaper back for a little bit, I’ll be sure to give the coupon section to you.”

“But I need all of it. I have a pet hamster and I line his cage with newspaper so I don’t have to buy packaged bedding at Petco.”

If there is one thing I learned from my dad, it’s negotiation skills. “Tell you what, Miss Hadari. I have a whole stack of old newspapers at my house. It would give your hamster enough liner for a year. I also have an entire 26 page coupon magazine that was mailed to me yesterday. I don’t really want it because I prefer to pay full price for everything. I’ll bring those things over to you if you would just let us have Mr. Sphongos’ newspaper back.”

Miss Hadari’s eyes became as hungry as a child starving in Africa.

“Okay. Wait here. I’ll go get it.”

A moment later she returned with the newspaper, smiling.

“Thank you so much, Miss Hadari. I’ll have those things over by this evening.”

“Oh no, Thank YOU,” she said. “And please, you can call me Heidi.”

As we walked back to Mr. Sphongos’ apartment, he asked me “Do you really like to pay full price for everything?”

“Heavens no. It pains me to waste money. I got that coupon book for free at the library. I’ll just pick up another one for myself on Tuesday when I have to return my Learn French Instantly CDs.”

“You’re learning French?”

“Oui.”

****

On day two of the search, we went full force. Ashley had found a sitter for Sawyer, Mr. Sphongos was remaining calm, and I had eaten a boat load of carrots the night before in order to aid my eyesight for this search.

“Hey Joelle, I’ve got to leave at one o’clock for an appointment with my dermatologist. But I’ll be back.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just have some moles on my arm that I need to get checked for skin cancer. My doctor, Lissa Skott, says it’s important to have yearly skin check ups. If there is a suspicious mole, then what she does is punch it out of your skin.”

“Like with a hole punch from Office Max?”

“Sort of. Anyway, I am a bit concerned because I swear I got a new mole yesterday. I just noticed it this morning.”

All of a sudden my gut dropped down to my knees and my brain came up with a wild idea. Maybe you’re thinking it to. Are you thinking “Maybe Ashley touched the microdot yesterday and didn’t even know it and now it is stuck to her skin”? Because that’s what I was thinking.

“Ashley. Can I see it?”

Ashley lifted her elbow and pointed to the new little dark spot. I used my super strength scope to inspect it at 1000 times its original size. Sadly, it was just a mole. But a healthy looking one!

I sighed, disappointed that Ashley wasn’t wearing the microdot on her left elbow. “You know, it’s actually kind of cute,” I told her. “Next to the other ones, it’s like a little nose in a smiley face.”

Ashley inspected it. “Hey, it kind of is a cute little one.”

We spent many hours searching for the missing dot, but by the end of day two there was still 28 boxes of items to be examined. I was getting frustrated. What if someone had stolen the microdot? Maybe someone had followed Mr. Sphongos home, observed him through the window, and then when he got drunk and passed out on his couch that night, they snuck in and stole it? Of course I didn’t tell any of this to my client. I didn’t want him to panic.

That night, after work, I called my friend Casey.

“I just can’t figure this one out,” I lamented. “I’m going mad searching for a period.”

Casey sympathized. “I’m no detective,” she started, “but can you try any other angles on this? Change the way you are searching?”

“How do you mean? Basically we have to look at everything under a microscope for hours. How can we change that?”

“Hang on just a second, I need to pause Buffy.”

Casey really got into the vampire slayer over the summer. I think it’s because she hates Robert Pattinson and secretly hopes that Buffy will make an appearance on the last movie of the Twilight series and slay them all.

“You still there?” Casey asked a second later.

“Yep.”

“Well, pretend that I misplaced a microdot. Where is the first place you would look.?”

“Easy. On that framed picture of you and Kendra from your high school graduation.”

“Why?” Casey asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Because it’s important to you. You would never accidentally throw it out. No one would dare take it from you. It’s a safe place.”

“So apply this theory to Mr. Sphongos. What do you know about him?”

“That he over indulges in wine. No, Casey, I get you. I can’t believe what a moron I’ve been. And here, I’m supposed to be the clever detective. Thanks for the talk.”

“No problem. Keep my updated on your progress.”

“Okay. G’night.”

I hung up the phone and realized I wasn’t going to find this microdot because I am good at finding things. I was going to find this microdot because I am good at figuring things out, and I am good at figuring people out. What I needed to do was take some time and get to know the person who had misplaced the item. Once I knew more about Mr. Sphongos, I’d have at least some idea of where he may have hidden his data. It’s like cracking a person’s e-mail password (which I’ve done). If you know enough about the person, you know exactly what their code is, even if they think they are being clever.

[For example, if your older sister tells you you’ll never crack her e-mail password because it’s a totally random word and is difficult to spell, you have some clues. I knew enough about my sister to know what sort of words she’d think were hard to spell. I knew what kind of music she listened to, what kind of shows she watched, and all of her other hobbies. That’s why when I tried typing “asparagus” on my first try, I totally got in. She had been going through her Veggie Tales phase. I wonder if she ever changed it. Lemme check…Oh my gatos she totally has had the same password for 14 years! Good thing she uses a new address, or I’d spend the rest of the night reading her messages instead of writing this story. Jess, if you are reading this, then you have unread mail dating back to 2001. And sorry about the whole hacking thing. I took your smug comment as a challenge].

          I showed up at Mr. Sphongos’ door at 6:30 the next morning. I had skipped my ritualistic running and weight lifting so I could close this case pronto. I wanted to close it like a suitcase lid belonging to person who was headed to Barbados for vacation after a job well done.

Mr. Sphongos opened the door, a bit sleepy eyed.

“Sir. Let’s take a break from this madness of searching so I can get to know you.” I handed him a coffee.

We sat at the kitchen table and I made my client tell me all about his life. I pressed him for information about past relationships, pets, places he lived, growing up, schooling, his parents, siblings, and extended family members. After the first hour he felt comfortable enough to tell me the intimate details of his life. By hour three I felt like his therapist.

“My father was very musical. He played many instruments. His favorite was the piano. He would play and my whole family would sing.” Mr. Sphongos got a faraway look in his eye, like he could see himself back in 1958 as a child, belting out the lyrics to Rock’n Robin by Bobby Day. Which would have been difficult, considering it’s not really a piano song.  

“Is your father still alive?” I asked.

“No. He passed away seven years ago. My brother played the piano at his funeral, as a tribute.”

“Do you have anything special to remember your father by? A picture? CD? Letter he wrote?”

“Well, I have all those things, but what I keep dear to me is the old sheet music from his original compositions. He was very talented.”

By this point my synapses were firing so much that I could have burnt the house down. We had not yet examined any sheet music.

“Let’s find it,” I said, jumping up from my chair.

Within minutes Mr. Sphongos located the stack of sheet music.

“Here’s one he composed for my fifth birthday. It’s quite animated and it’s titled “My Little Fun Guy.”

The page was indeed popping with fun little measures. It was written with many eighth notes, instructed to be played allegro. I took the sheet and stuck it under the microscope. Nothing. Not even a booger.

“Do you remember the last piece he ever wrote?” I asked. “Is it here?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t dare throw that away.” Mr. Sphongos took some time finding a lovely, lengthy piece titled “My Heart Lives On.” I reached for it carefully and slipped it under the scope. On page three I spotted it. 36^th measure. It was a C. Quarter note. Instead of a black dot full of black ink, I saw hundreds of little words. I spotted key words like “Sweden” “Education” “Achievement” and “No recess.”

“I’ve found it, sir. Take a look for yourself.” I moved over so Mr. Sphongos could verify.

“Oh thank heavens,” he said. When his face turned up I could see his eyes were full of tears. “Thank you so much, Detective Rossen. You have found my microdot, I’ll be able to turn in my work, keep my job, and reform America’s horrendous education system.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him to dream on. Or to tell him that reform comes slowly, that it starts with yourself in your own heart, that is spreads to your family and friends, and then to your city and nation. It’s not a top down process, it’s a bottom up process, and it requires people to surrender their hatred, sacrifice their sanity, bleed out love, and miss their favorite spy television show on Thursday nights.

Indeed, I wished Mr. Sphongos the best on his venture to change the nation. But mostly I was just relieved to pack for that vacation to Barbados.

Gym Fees

I had a conversation at church yesterday with my newly acquired friend, Emily. Rather than discuss all sorts of theological questions, the meaning of life, or whether Jesus currently has a beard or is clean cut, we discussed work out habits.

Emily sort of likes work out videos because she can do them when no one is watching. I told her that's exactly my problem. I have an over priced gym membership because I am not so much paying for the equipment as I am paying for the peer pressure of not quitting. See, if I did a work out DVD at home, I could push pause at any moment. I could go eat Reese's peanut butter cups in between cardio and stretching. After ten push ups, I might decide I'd rather be checking my e-mail. It is impossible for me to work out at home. What I need is the peer pressure of ten pairs of eyes watching me.

I realize that people probably aren't really watching me at the gym, because I rarely watch other people (unless they look like a version of Michael Vartan from Alias, which this one guy does. I'm pretty sure he was/is in the military, and his name is Jared or Jerald or something like that. The reason I don't talk to him is because like Agent Vaughn, he's probably about ten years older than me). Anyway, people don't really watch other people at the gym, because they are so self-conscious about themselves. I always believe someone is watching me, so I do my best not to quit after five push ups, and I won't stop on the treadmill after fifteen minutes because that makes me look really lame.

In fact, sometimes when I am on the elliptical, I will go for much longer than I had intended, just because the person who came to use the machine to my left got on ten minutes ago, and I don't want them to think I've only been doing this for fifteen minutes. So I'll stay on for like an extra twenty minutes, or until my water bottle is bone dry and I'm so delusional with thirst that I stumble off the machine and fall to the ground like a weakened soldier in the Afghan desert.

I also do group exercise classes at the gym, and these are a great source of peer pressure. I do a weight lifting class, and granted I don't lift half as much as most people, but I still do everything and don't quit. I don't want people thinking I am a wimp, even if I do have noodle arms and can only do overhead presses with a maximum of 18 pounds. My most favorite class is the kickboxing one, which is an hour of intense cardio.

When I started going to the gym after the first 22 years of a sedentary lifestyle, I would never have thought of doing cardio for 60 whole minutes. I certainly wouldn't do that in my living room with a work out video. Heck no, I probably would have lasted twenty minutes. But because there are fifteen other people in the room with me, I can't quit. Sometimes peer pressure is a very good thing.

Another reason I go to the gym regularly is because I spend an exorbitant amount of money on it. I hate wasting money, so if I am paying for a membership, I am darn well going to use that membership, even if I hate going. I want to get my money's worth. I'm glad to say I don't really hate going to the gym anymore. Instead I have anticipation, because who knows who you'll meet at the gym? I mean, what if I saw Richard Simmons there one day, giving a special class presentation? Or Billy Banks came to kick boxing? Or Jillian Michaels was on the bicycle next to me, and she started yelling at me to move it?

 Yes, paying too much for a gym membership and believing that people are watching my every move is what keeps me in shape. What do you do to keep in shape? Do at-home-videos work for you?

Blogger-Reader Date

Oh, hey, thanks for meeting me. You look stunning. Yesterday I told you that if you were lucky, you'd get a Friday night blogger-reader date with me at nine o'clock. Or by nine o'clock. Though I have a feeling this conversation is going to be a bit one-sided. But we'd better get started, because I have some things to tell you and I haven't seen the waiter come by.

On Friday nights I like to catch up on my on-line television viewing. At the beginning of the school year, I felt overwhelmed because I had so many shows to watch (Covert Affairs, Under Covers, Nikita, and Glee when I felt like it). I should have been more thankful that those spy shows were on then. Covert Affairs wasn't really that good, but its season is done until this coming summer. I've been checking back on Hulu for new episodes of Under Covers (kind of my favorite) and Nikita. There hasn't been anything new in ages. So what do I do? Google news them both, of course. Do you know what I discovered? NBC has canceled Under Covers. This is a tragedy, and it always happens to me. After Alias ended, it took me forever to discover Lost. And then when Lost was over, I found Flash Forward, which was very brief, though riveting (in my opinion). And now they've gone and canceled the best spy show there's been in a while.

My problem is that I am too loyal. I have one show that I love, and one show only. So when it leaves me, I enter heartbreak. I ache to find something I can look forward to every week. I'm afraid I might rebound and start watching The Bachelor again, even though I finally quit like, two seasons ago. Good news is, Nikita is supposed to be back on next week. I will cling to her like a baby. You know, if babies clung to trained assassins who are dressed in black leather and own extensive weapon collections.

Oh hey look, our food has arrived. I know right? And you didn't even order anything. But it's your favorite, rest assured. Dig in.

Sometimes when you don't really know someone very well, you talk about really lame subjects such as the weather. Unless you've recently experienced a tornado or flood or something, it's usually not that interesting. I, however, had a wonderful weather-related conversation yesterday after school. I was standing at the back side of the school by the gym (which is where I am supposed to stand from 3:15 to 3:30 while students are leaving the premises), and I saw my old student from last year. Tyler (now a 5th grader) came up to me and started a conversation, as usual. He asked me what I'd been doing. I told him about the things I've been teaching my class recently. I asked him what he had been learning about. He said weather and climate. So then we started talking about collecting data. Apparently everyday the students in his class have to check the temperature and record if it is sunny, cloudy, rainy, snowing, etc. Plus, he was able to tell me about the type of clouds currently in the sky. I later complimented him on his use of "precipitation" in a sentence. It was really a nice, intellectual conversation, and after he left, I realized that is what I like best about being a teacher: I like talking to my old students. Because they are not currently in my class, our relationship is nothing but positive. I don't have to discipline them. They are excited to see me. The problem is, in order to get old students, you have to have current ones. And they give me headaches.

Did you order this dessert? Because it looks delicious. Mind if I try a bite?

Did you ever watch Even Stevens? With Shia LeBeouf? You know, when he was still a kid in middle school and not starring in Transformers with Megan Fox? I loved that show because it was hilarious. Well, I've got this student, "Drew," and I sort of wish he could have his own TV show. Drew created bread people. He's also the one who came in a few months ago with his cello case and was all "Hey look teacher, I'm a rock and roller! All I need is an ugly jacket and a beard." Well, this morning when he came in, he sat at a seat that was not his (he usually sits in at least three people's seats before the bell rings) and says to a group of kids, "Last night I learned beauty tips from Megan Fox." He says all of these things in his chubby-cheeked Spanish accent.

Oh look, the bill came. Don't worry though, your pretend meal is on me. We'll have to do this again sometime.

Undercovers

I'm excited about J.J. Abrams' new show, Undercovers. He has made two of my favorite shows: Alias and Lost. I am doubly excited because Michael Giacchino composes the musical scores for the show, as he did for Alias and Lost. Essentially, J.J. Abrams + Michael Giacchino = really good TV. There's only been two episodes so far, so if you haven't watched, you can get caught up on-line.

The show airs on NBC at 8pm on Wednesdays, and it follows the lives of a couple, Steven and Samantha Bloom. They used to work for the CIA, but then retired to start a catering business. However, the CIA wants them back in, much to the chagrin of Carlton Shaw (Gerald McRaney), who is like their handler.

I don't have the words to tell you how much I liked this show. It's funny and fast paced and fills that Alias sized hole in my heart that Agent Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow left. Another entertaining part of the show is Agent Leo Nash (Carter MacIntyre), who is really cute. He used to be partners with Samantha and then they started dating before she and her husband got together. In the second episode, Carlton Shaw tells Steven and Samantha that Leo will be joining them on most of their missions, which sort of makes for an awkward love triangle.

Really, you should just invest two hours of your life and watch it. This is better than Nikita and Covert Affairs.  Go here to look at the website and watch the first two episodes. But hurry up because you can only view the pilot until October 15th!

Nikita: a TV review

I watched the pilot episode of Nikita, and I think so far so good. It has Shane West in it, which was a big motivation to watch, because you know, he's so handsome. But I mainly watched Nikita because I still miss Alias, and Covert Affairs is sort of lacking on the action. After watching Nikita, I read some of the comments posted on the show site, and boy were people riled up. I could tell they were people like me: people who watched and loved Alias.

Let me tell you the weird parts. In Alias, Sydney Bristow thought she worked for a black ops division of the CIA, (but it was really evil SD-6) and they had her fiance, Daniel Hecht murdered. Then Syd found out and joined the real CIA, whereupon she fell in love with the super hot Agent Michael Vaughn. Sydney worked to bring down the people she used to work for, SD-6.

In Nikita, Nikita worked for a hidden division in the CIA called simply, Division, as an assassin. Then she fell in love with a civilian named Daniel and he was killed by the CIA. Then Nikita has a relationship with another CIA agent named Michael. Nikita is working to take down the people she used to work for.

The CW show currently airing is based on the 1990 French film Nikita, 1993 remake Point of No Return, and the 1997 television series La Femme Nikita. Apparently Alias was a direct copy of La Femme Nikita. Now, I haven't watched the other Nikita, so I can't compare it to Alias, but I think that Alias had a good run and was an excellent show, even if it did share conceptual ideas. I sort of feel like the current Nikita has a lot to live up to. The tail end of the pilot had a surprising twist, though, so I have been hooked and plan to keep watching.

Any one else watch it? It airs Thursdays at nine on the CW.

Covert Affairs

From high school through half way of college, Alias was my favorite show ever. Then I didn't have one for a while. Eventually I became a Lost addict. Let me tell you about the new show I'm trying to get in to. It's called Covert Affairs and stars Piper Perabo on USA on Tuesday nights. I watch it on Hulu the next day because I don't get cable.


How Covert Affairs is like Alias:
*both have a young woman who progresses quickly in the CIA
*both have tech guys
*both go on missions
*both have to lead a secret double life

Main Character
Alias starred Jennifer Garner as Sydney Bristow
Name: Sydney is a regular name but not one you hear all the time. I know like, two Sydneys. 
Hair: Brown, shoulder length
Lips: jealous
Love interest that sparked her double agency: her fiance got killed in the bath tub.

Covert Affairs stars Piber Perabo as Annie Walker
Name: Honestly, the name is so blah. So incredibly common. Couldn't they think of something better? Like Jolie Rossen?
Hair: blond, past shoulder length
Lips: jealous  
Love interest that sparked her to work for the CIA: some shirtless dude on a beach that gave her a matching bracelet. She knew him for like two weeks, then he disappeared.

Tech guys
Alias had Marshall, who was super nerdy and socially awkward but made wicked devices.

Covert Affairs has Auggie, who is blind, but manages to save Annie's butt through technology.

Sound Track
Alias had genius musical scores composed by Michael Giacchino. They were seriously awesome. So awesome in fact, that I bought the soundtrack to season one even though there are NO LYRICS-- just spy inspired beats. I listen to it in the car when I'm trying to be bad ass. He did the musical scores for Lost and Alias, and for films like Mission Impossible III, The Incredibles, Ratatouille, and Up. Plus he's gotten an Emmy, some Grammys, and an Academy Award. Because he's that brilliant.

Covert Affairs has....who knows, I didn't even care enough to look it up. It's not awesome. It still sounds spy-like, but nothing gripping, you know? Nothing that makes you want to wet your pants with excitement.


Other Cast Members
Alias had Victor Garber as Syd's father and Michael Vartan as the oh so sizzling Agent Vaughn.

Covert Affairs sometimes has Peter Gallagher, who used to be on the O.C. Didn't he?

In conclusion, Alias was quite obviously better, but Covert Affairs is helping to fill that empty hole in my heart. Though I'm very excited about two upcoming TV shows this fall, which I will tell you about sometime soon.

It's not like I watch vampiric TV shows

Natalie left today. Brittany's not home. I don't have any books from the library. I already went to the gym. So what do I do? Try to fix my TV. It only took four rolls of tin foil, a ladder, a trip to the roof, and some space wave interaction while wearing a special helmet. Kidding. All I had to do was change the channel on the physical TV, instead of on one of three remotes, which can get really confusing.

But then I had to move the antennae around, because we don't have cable and I have to rely on the tv micro chips in space to land on the rabbit ears and form a picture on the screen. I was really excited for the first clear station to come in, which happened to be the CW, formerly the WB with that singing frog. Do you know what is on the CW at 8:30 pm on a Thursday night? The Vampire Diaries, that's what.

Do you know who is on The Vampire Diaries? Only two characters from my two favorite shows of all time, Alias and Lost. Within ten seconds of watching this show, I spotted Ian Somerhalder, who played Boone on Lost, and David Anders, who played Sydney Bristow's pesky enemy Sark on Alias. And okay, neither of these characters were my absolute favorite (though I did like Sark quite a bit, for an evil-plotting-to-ruin-the-world type), but still. They were two characters on two of the best shows of all time. I had to watch.

 Sark from Alias

 Boone from LOST

This is what I could gather from half an episode: Boone and Sark are enemies. They live in a place called Mystic Falls. Boone is a vampire. He has a younger brother who is very hot and also a vampire. Boone's little brother (Stefan) likes to touch the wounds of injured women and then lick their blood off of his fingers. Stefan is in high school and has a mortal girlfriend. She wants to kiss him but he's afraid of what he might do to her (i.e, suck her blood and kill her). She trusts him though, so they end up making out. Then this other guy finds somebody's diary. I think it was the girlfriend's. There's a magic ring involved somehow. Boone likes to drink human blood but his brother Stefan is trying to restrain himself. Apparently he's done so for years. And now he's throwing it all away for some woman's head wound.

It is at this time that I would just like to pull an Insatiable quote, which I've posted before. Main character Meena Harper says, "Vampires always seem to choose to prey on pretty female victims. And yet for some reason women find this sexy. The idea that they’re nobly restraining themselves from killing is supposed to be attractive? Excuse me, but how is knowing a guy wants to kill you hot?"

Because this is what it's like: hot vampire Stefan (who is supposed to be in high school but looks 25 but is actually 28 in real life(I IMBDd him)) goes around being in love with this high school girl, but he wants to seriously suck some blood. Only he calls it "feeding" which makes it sound even worse, like he's a piranha in the fish tank that needs some hamburger. His face starts to crack when he's craving blood, and the expression on his face when he does drink blood is quite inappropriate. Like maybe he's enjoying it a little too much. To which I'm like "What the hell? Can't you find something else to eat?" I mean, I can understand some cravings. When I crave Chinese fried rice, I can get quite monstrous. I'll think about it all day and believe I just have to have it. But then feed me some pizza instead and I forget about it. So that's why I tell Stefan Salvatore, "go to Pizza Hut and order a deep dish." Surely it can't be that bad. And okay, maybe human blood to him is more like coke to a drug addict, but still. There's rehab for that.

I got infected and now I'm a zombie smoke monster

Here's my problem: the season finale of Lost is on tomorrow. And it's not just the season finale, it's like, the big end. No more Lost after that. End of show. Gone. What am I supposed to watch after tomorrow?

It was like this with my other favorite show, Alias. Alias got me through the tought times of high school and part of college, and then it ended. Both Alias and Lost were created by J.J. Abrams, and both of them got way too sci-fi at the end. So it's not like Lost is great right now. And in Alias Sydney Bristow's long lost sister got infected and like turned into a zombie vampire or something at the end. Actually, come to think of it, that sounds like what happened to the people on Lost too. Sounds like a J.J Abrams trend. Just have your main characters get infected with something weird and kill them off.

In my depression, I started thinking about other shows I could get into. I thought of Flashforward, because it has Penny and Charlie from Lost in it. Plus, that guy who looks like Richard Alpert minus the eyeliner. I saw it a few times, but then stopped watching because it was one of those shows that you needed to start from the beginning with.

So last night I drove to Blockbuster and rented the first episodes of Flashforward, so that I could get all caught up and become a loyal viewer. I watched 3 episodes in a row. And then you know what happens to me today?

Brittany's fiance comes over and sees the DVD case laying on the coffee table and says "Oh, Flashforward. I think they just canceled that." I google newsed it and he's totally right. Here I am, wasting my time trying to get caught up on what I think will have to become my new favorite show, and then they up and cancel it.

All this to say I need recommendations. I like action, but not a lot of blood. I like mystery and suspense and having everything all linked up. I need something to look forward to in my week. I don't have cable, so it'd be nice if the episodes air on-line.

Basically, I'm lost.

The Roommate Adventures: Pageant Queen

         

        Pageant Place stars and Trump

    

           My life is just like a movie, I swear. Sometimes I wonder where MTV is hiding the cameras. You know Miss Congeniality with Sandra Bullock? The whole part where she’s an agent going undercover in the Miss America Pageant? Well, that’s not me. It’s my roommate Talia.

           Talia is competing in the local county pageant (which takes place on March 15^th) to become queen. Only she doesn’t actually want to be queen, because then she’d have queenly duties. Talia just needs some scholarship money, as does everyone who quits the agency and has to rely on their part-time job at Valsmetz instead of the government.

            It’s not like Talia or I are bitter. We’re glad to be done with the agency. We just wish we were getting our monthly checks and dental insurance, instead of filing for food stamps. 

            Elise and I are very supportive of Talia’s endeavors. Secretly, we think we might become semi-famous since we’re the roommates, like on Pageant Place—only I hope Donald Trump won’t be involved. Talia’s got a good chance of winning too, because she’s quite talented, being an ex-agent and everything. How many people do you know who can crack codes and disarm bombs and speak Mandarin? That’s what I thought.

            Elise and I thought everything was going fine for all of the big-haired beauty queens until one day when Talia came back from pageant rehearsal in a panic.

            “Jolie! JOLIE!”

            “I’m here, what’s going on?”

            “One of the girls dropped out of the pageant.”

            “Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Now you have a one in nine chance of winning,” Elise reasoned.

            “You don’t understand. She dropped out. Chrissy Cannon dropped out. She’s been doing pageants since she was a baby. We all thought she’d win the title this year.”

            “Did she say why she dropped out?” I asked.

            “No. She wasn’t at rehearsal, and one of the board members just told us that Chrissy has decided not to continue,” Talia explained.

            The three of us chatted about Chrissy for a while, but we ultimately convinced Talia not to worry too much, because like Elise said, her chances were improving.

                  

    Chrissy Cannon in a child pageant competition

The next Wednesday I was helping Talia solidify her wardrobe. She had to choose everything and submit it to the board the following Sunday. Solidifying a wardrobe is a ton of work. It’s not like choosing a disguise out of your costume box in three minutes so you can cruise off in your getaway car inconspicuously. Solidifying a wardrobe is so laborious that Elise and our friend Alicia had to help too.

Talia tried on wigs for her talent portion, evening gowns, swimsuits, shoes, hairpieces, interview suits, and more shoes. Choosing the right wig was the most difficult task. Alicia liked the hot pink one, I was a fan of the blond beehive, but Talia was most drawn to the red one.

            “Talia, tell me three reasons why you like the red one best,” Alicia quizzed.

            “I like red because it makes me feel vibrant, powerful, and alive,” she answered in perfect pageant interview voice.

            Thirty-two pairs of shoes and fourteen hours later, Talia had decided on her wardrobe. I’m not going to reveal all of it, because you will have to come to the pageant on March 15^th to see it.

            

                    Talia's hairpiece for formal wear

            The next Sunday I was eagerly awaiting Talia’s return from pageant rehearsal. I wanted to know what the board thought of her wardrobe. I secretly knew they wanted Talia to wear the beehive wig too.

            “Jolie? JOOOOLIE!”

            “What? I’m here.”

            “Terrible news.”

            “They hated your formal gown?” I asked.

            “No.”

            “They prefer the blond beehive wig?”

            “No.”

Disappointment flooded me. “Well, then what.”

            “Caitlynn Kritten dropped out of the pageant.”

            “Not another one! But this means your chances are now one out of eight!”

            Talia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is Elise home?”

            “No. She’s at the gym.” Elise hadn’t worked for the agency, and she didn’t know about the former lives that Talia and I had lived.

            “I think they’re after me.”

            “The agency?” Director Keller had assured us we wouldn’t be bothered.

            “No. Them. Agent Henkle and her associates.” That would be ridiculous. Agent Henkle died in episode one of the Roommate Adventures.

            “Why would the late Agent Henkle’s associates be after you? What could they have against you competing in a scholarship pageant and being a role model for girls everywhere?”

            “Jolie. I’m shocked. You, of all people, should’ve done your homework.” I didn’t know what she meant. Last I checked, my ED 851 class syllabus had no homework. “Do you know who Agent Henkle was colleagues with?”

            “No.”

            “Donald Trump.”

            “No way!”

            “Yes. And I am afraid Donald has learned that the demise of Agent Henkle was because of me. He wants revenge.”

            “Revenge?”

            “Yes. The Miss America Organization has been feuding with Donald Trump’s Miss USA Organization for years. And that’s not all,” Talia continued.

            “Noooo…” I said in shock.

            “Yes. Two years ago, Agent Henkle was a favorite to win Miss America.”

            “In Trump’s rival organization?”

            “Yes. She only did it to sabotage the other contestants so that the Miss USA Organization would gain a better image.”

            “You think Henkle’s associates are trying to sabotage you and the local pageant to get revenge and to further Donald Trump’s agenda?” I was starting to get worried.

            “Exactly. But they’re not going to succeed.”

            “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

            “Because I already have a plan up my expensive pageant gown sleeve for March 15^th.”

            “The day of the pageant?”

            “You better believe it.”

            What’s Talia going to do? I don’t know, because she didn’t tell me. I, for one, am going to be at that pageant supporting her in her quest to become queen and in her fight against Donald Trump. And you should, too. But I’m warning you, if what Talia believes is true, it could be dangerous. You don’t know Henkle’s associates like I do. Wear a disguise and have a getaway car ready. I’ll be the one in the blonde beehive wig and Jackie O sunglasses. 

                                     

Talia practicing her talent. She decided to go for a Sydney Bristow look from Alias.

Being Followed

I've watched enough Alias episodes to know that I should have been more suspicious of the guy who came into my classroom to do something to my computer, because yes, he's probably a district employee, but most likely he was planting a spy cam, or a computer file tracker, or something malicious.

I was on the phone with my mortgage guy, with the classroom door shut so I'd have some privacy. I never shut my classroom door. I was talking away when I hear the door open. I figured whoever had enough balls to open the door when it was so clearly shut had something important to tell me. I looked up and saw said mysterious man. He was holding some computer hub thing, and I was having an important call, so I just waved him in. I got away from my desk and walked to the other end of my room. The guy was there for all of three minutes and then left. After he left, I realized maybe he wasn't a computer maintenance guy at all, maybe he was a spy. Maybe he was pulling a Sydney Bristow and had just put a business card sized device on the back of my computer so the district could track my every move.

They are watching. Everything.