Wherein I Use Summer for Lesson Planning

I'm afraid I've become mature.

Well, mature-er.

My friends and loved ones have been noticing the disturbing signs of change for a while. "You're always working," they say. "I know Friday nights are tough for you, but..." they wheedle. "You've mellowed," they point out.

Mellowed. Like some sort of food product left in the cellar too long; I've probably also gotten stinkier, but that's for another post. This mellow, thing, though - I don't like it. I used to have an edge! I was so angry about ridiculous things! I used to hurt my throat yelling when we went out at night, and then, to rest my voice, I would go climb a tree or run around the block. For years, Gerard was sure that his death would be directly related to me yelling at some burly stranger and him having to defend me.

Lately, though, I've given up on aggressively stating my opinions about where large strangers should be sitting (not on the subway steps!) or standing (not in the doorway, fool!). Maybe it was becoming a teacher, or maybe it was just me getting older (although, no matter how many times I tell my students that I am astonishingly, creakingly old, I am not really in the vicinity even of middle-agedness), but my attempts to correct people's unacceptable behaviors have become much more didactic, and less rageful and insane. Because I have not entirely given up on having OPINIONS, Gerard still slightly fears the wrath of strangers, but he no longer believes that I am going to get him beaten with clubs.

Let's get married!

Thelaurenbell is getting married in about six weeks. No longer will she be thelaurenbell. No longer will she have most of her savings (the pizza truck will be worth it, though). No longer will she have much of her already questionable sanity - at least for the few days leading up to THE BIG EVENT.

Or, that's what she has been led to believe. She really won't have any money, and she really will be giving up that sweet, succinct last name, but the whole mind-losing thing, well, I've known crazy, and so far, the impending WEAVING TOGETHER OF TWO SOULS has done little to affect her current levels thereof.

If the magazines are correct - and Martha Stewart's magazines are always correct or so help her she will end you -  weddings are full of stress, jitters, bridezilla-ing, crazes, and other things that are distinctly the opposite of lying in a hammock somewhere. If you're not Nitpicking Napkin Colors, you're Putting Out that In-Law Fire* (*Real headlines from wedding magazines.** [**No, they're not.]). I wish wedding planning was full of as much excitement and adventure as walking into Mordor, but so far I have dealt with NO FIRES. Not a one. Not even, really, the metaphorical type - which is what I assume that headline about your in-laws was talking about because, otherwise: sad. Wedding planning is annoying, but straight-forward. It's like those silly magazines only want you to think this is impossible so that you will buy more of their "helpful" prod- OH.

Just Another Day at the Naming Factory

Demoted. Again. Once, I was the king of product naming, the Necromancer of Nomenclature (and, yes, I did come up with that one on my own. I know.). But now is the twilight of my greatness. My star dims. One more "Sleep Cheap" fiasco could darken it for good.

I thought I understood the sweet science of product naming; I dazzled my professors in "Fun Rhymes 350", cracked the curve on my "Alliteration Always" exam, but, lo, here I sit with the dummies in Household Appliances. Where is the poetry in adding "-matic" to the end of everything? What ho the lyricism in random strings of numbers? An Insider Tip for you, compassionate listener: the only difference in the CoffeeMan3500 and 4500 is the price. Do not tell your coldhearted friends. They care only for what comes out of these machines - not what goes into them.