Remember being 10 and staring at your art teacher with her stringy hair, bohemian skirts, and kenya bags? Ever wonder how she was thirty and single, because wasn't everyone supposed to be married? Ms. G taught me how to swear in Arabic, she would crack wise, and was always ready with a wink. She always told us to create with our hearts. I remember telling my best friend, S, "Ms. G is a huge weirdo."
For the past week, I have been thinking about taking an art class. This Christmas when my niece asked me to draw something, the only thing I knew how to draw well was a cartoon of a eukaryotic cell. (Her mom drew a bunch of bunny rabbits.) Which is why Ms. G came to mind.
If I met Ms. G today, I'm sure we would be friends. I would be amused by her quirkiness, and her earnestness would be refreshing. Or maybe not. Maybe she really is a huge weirdo.
The line between eccentric and crazy is hazy at best. Like when you go into Anthropologie, and you see a ruffled sweater; is it cute or dowdy? It straddles a hazy line and is in desperate need of context. Cute on Zooey Deschanel, but the same sweater would be dowdy on Meryl Streep.
I decided to take stock of some of my stranger habits: buying Mega Millions Lotto tickets in the scariest neighborhoods as soon as the jackpot is over 100 mil, making Fimo art for members of the Fantasy Football league, short selling stock as a revenge technique, obsessing about my hair loss, telling my students to create science with their hearts, etc.. My conclusion was to stay away from 10 year olds, I am sure I am a huge weirdo in their eyes.
1 comment:
poor evil twin #1. maybe you should start writing an ongoing feature called "sometimes i feel like this gal".
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