Dante, New York City & Rubber Chickens

If Dante Alighieri had been a high school publications adviser, I am fairly certain he would have reserved his inner circle of hell for something yearbook related. That little epiphany hit me about 6 p.m. on the Friday before Spring break.

The Friday when I was supposed to have submitted all 280 pages of the yearbook. 


The Friday when I was supposed to have submitted my progress report grades.


The Friday when I was supposed to have gotten all my travel stuff ready for my trip to New York City with three newspaper staffers to claim their Columbia Scholastic Press Association Crown award.  


The Friday when I was supposed to have gathered together all the wonderful, insightful, intelligent things I wanted to say for my New York City session.

Yep, that Friday.

So there I was with those epiphany light bulbs flashing like a hoard of paparazzi in my grey mattered mush of a brain about 6 p.m. on the Friday before Spring break. I was alone in my classroom and, from the looks of the school parking lot, alone in my school as well.

I really don’t know how I can be so successful at advising the school newspaper but feel like an abject failure with the yearbook. Every year when we go to finalize the book, I open page after page and discover ugly lime green picture boxes that were supposed to contain a photograph. You know, important photographs like group pictures, action shots, candid shots… any shot of anything just give me something besides those lime green boxes. Hails bails, at this point, stick figures look pretty good.

My personal favorite this year was discovering at 8 a.m. on that Friday before Spring break that two pages had not even been started. (I suppose you can image what the bubble above my head was screaming. I’d tell you, but then that’s the sort of thing that will get you fired. And y’all know how I feel about those darn tootin’ things. I've got a draw full of those in a nifty folder aptly labeled "Things That Will Get You Fired."

I did manage to get all 280 pages in. I opted to abandon the page proofs until after break.

I did manage to submit my progress report grades.

I did manage (sort of) to get most of my travel stuff in order.

I did not, however, come up with anything terribly wonderful, insightful or intelligent to say for my session.

I could deal with all of that except for one thing.

As I boarded the airplane, I realized I forgot the chicken.

Now that’s a bad thing. A very, very bad thing indeed.  You see flinging a chicken around could have covered for my uncharacteristic lack of preparation.

Yep, it’s a very bad thing. I can’t even have my husband overnight Mr. Chicken because he’s locked in my classroom. The kids suggested we search for one in New York City, but I'm not sure where one goes to buy that sort of thing. I know I didn't see one in Chinatown. Unless they're hidden in those back rooms that I never get invited into because I don't have "the look."  There's probably an entire room filled with rubber chickens and Coach bags and Louis Vuitton. 

So with less than 24 hours to go, I’m flying solo here without a chicken wing or a prayer.

I tell you, it’s that yearbook thing. So feel sorry for me. I’m stuck in the inner circle of hell.

Spring Break, New York City & Shoe Stores

I spent the first half of my spring break battling my allergies and the demons I call yearbook.

I spent the second half of my spring break battling my allergies, teenagers and New York City streets. (I left the yearbook demons back in Texas. I think attempting to smuggle them into New York City would have put me speedy quick on everyone’s watch list.)

So here I am in New York City with four newspaper staff members–four teenage girls to be exact–winding down our trip from our national journalism convention at Columbia University.

In between the requisite sightseeing, I even taught a little session about this blogging business. When I return to the Lone Star state, I’ll have to remember to do three things…

Thing #1… Smack my friend Sandy upside her head because she told me only one or two advisers would attend my little session. Instead, I had a pretty full crowd, and I didn’t even have to beg them to listen to me. A few had even read my book, and they loved it, too. (Hey, Oprah, are ya listening?)

My four staffers even said I did a good job, but I think they lie a lot, too. (You know, like my friend Sandy.) Since I’m fairly certainly I would get into trouble if I smacked them upside their little heads with the rubber chicken, I didn’t.

Thing #2… Eat Mexican food. Here’s a little tip in life… Never eat Mexican food north of the Red River. You’re just going to have to trust me on that one. (There’s probably a particular longitude and latitude that also applies to barbecue, but I’m not exactly sure where that is. However, I’m pretty sure the state of New York would not be included in the “It’s OK to eat barbecue here” map.)

Thing #3… Perform some sort of fancy, schmancy exorcism on the yearbook demons and try and finalize the yearbook… without injuring any students in the process…or going nuts & crazy…or making my Big Fat Stupid Head timer stop.  I think it will take some sort of divine intervention for the last item not to occur.

But before we get all misty eyed about the impending doom of the BFSH counter, I still have another 24 hours before I have to think yearbook, and I have one more night in the city that never sleeps.

So let’s try and keep these happy thoughts going. A real plus side of this trip was meeting up with one of my former newspaper editors who works at Simon and Schuster.

I told the girls we would be going to Rockefeller Center to meet Christina and that there would be free sodas and free books involved.

As we were walking, one of the girls asked, “Why are we getting free books and sodas from a shoe store?”

Me… “A shoe store?”

Staffer… “Yeah, you said she worked for a shoe store.”

Me…“No, I said she worked for Simon and Schuster. You know, the publishing company.”

My current editor-in-chief (the very cute, affable and matching Carson) did point out what a fabulous experience that would be—to have a store where you could not only buy shoes but read and buy books, too.

I guess we could call it The Shoe Knew…or the Shoe Boo… or The Shoebooka…

Yep, I think it’s time to head on back to Tejas.