sauce on the side

yesterday harper lee broke her silence after watching hank aaron’s induction into the alabama academy of honor. i love harper lee. and in her honor, i’m maybe going to break my blogging silence in order to call everyone’s attention to the death of one ms. grace paley, one of my personal heroes.

grace paley was a writer and activist who produced three slim volumes of short stories in the midst of trying to be a wife, mother, and conscious citizen of the bronx and the world. i discovered her short stories when i was in high school, and they were a touch stone of the what i now think of as the canon of survival (it contains adrienne rich, mary oliver, wendell berry, virginia wolf, robert haas..), that is, writers who helped me get through adolescence without losing my head. grace paley’s stories are about sassy determined women who are trying to take the troubles of their personal lives with a grain of salt while refusing to let the troubles of the world pass them by unnoticed. in her protagonists, she captures this great mix of wry matter-of-fact humor about life with a passionate wish for something more, something better,that always made me feel like they were my role models. they worry over their inability to return library books, their marriages, their sons, the way they love, the future, the present (and what they should be doing to ensure one and improve the other). they ( and grace paley herself) were care-givers, but also rabble-rousers, women who knew how to make dinner on a budget, but who weren’t afraid to challenge authority wherever they saw fit. i loved them.

when i was a senior, wesleyan brought grace paley to campus as part of the writer’s project or something. this resulted in two fantastic happenings. the first was hilarious: she gave a reading of her stories in that theatre where they played that big instrument with lots of parts (anyone know what i’m talking about here? the one that was underground?) anyway. she read her stories, and it was sensational. then there was time for questions. people asked about her past, her stories, etc. then this one girl did that thing that someone ALWAYS does when there is a famous or even semi-famous person around. she stood up and laid out her personal baggage for, like, five minutes (ok, it was probably only 3 but you know how time feels under these kind of circumstances) anyway. it’s all praise, all “oh, i love your work, i really feel like has influenced me, I..” but with WAY too many “I” s and “Me”s thrown in to make is anything but embarrassing and annoying. the whole room is seething in awkwardness. FINALLY, the girl finished. there was a pause. little grace paley, with her dress and her fly-a-way white hair around her little brown eyes, looked at the girl. “thank you” she said quietly. then, after about a beat, because she seemed to feel like she must be honest, her face turned kind of embarrassed “i didn’t hear you”, she said, admitting it.
i don’t know if the hilarity of this situation comes through the way i’ve written it, but i was in stitches. she was so contrite, and so honest, and it was so funny the way she tried to pull it off and then couldn’t. i got some of the worst giggles of my life, and probably squeezed my friend alex’s hand off trying to stay quiet.

the next morning, i had weaseled my way into the meet-grace-paley breakfast. it was in that building where they do the rewards receptions. i remember because it was senior year, and it seemed like it was all-receptions, all-the-time. we ate some dry aramark bagels, and then there was a q & a session. people asked her about her writing process (obituaries suggest it was hap hazard) and her life in new york. when it came to finally be my turn, i asked her simply, “do you have any advice for us, i mean, about, you know…how to live? i mean, you know, for our lives, just living them?” (yes, i’m pretty sure about all those ‘you know”s. it happens) grace looked over at me, and what is amazing to me is that she didn’t take a moment. one would think that being asked for advice on How To Live my give someone a bit of pause. but she looked up, and said, “yes. what you need to do is go outside of yourself. go out into the world and meet people who are different from you, who have experiences that are outside of your experience. work and walk new different neighborhoods, meet people and talk to them. because as you talk to the people around you, you will hear their stories. and as you hear people’s stories, your politics will grow out of what you think about what you’ve heard. and your actions will grow out of what you will begin to believe. so, talk to people. talk to them. listen to them. go. ”

although she was busy woman who didn’t even hear the one rambling soliloquy that i ever heard directed towards her, i do kind of wish that grace paley could know how much i have tried to take her advice to heart.

she’s dead now, so obviously i can’t. but i can recommend that all of you go to a book store and buy the collected stories of grace paley. please?

when beautiful, stately harper lee was approached by a reporter in the south yesterday, she said, simply, “it’s better to be silent than to be a fool”.
the beauty of grace paley is that she was neither.

this is an ad that i saw on craigslist today:

4 Great Aspects Into Becoming a Teacher in Philadelphia

Reply to: see below
Date: 2007-07-13, 2:04PM EDT

Teachers Needed in Philadelphia

Becoming a school teacher is most rewarding and an industry where you will always be needed in Philadelphia and can work anywhere.
Not only here in Philadelphia but there is a Nation-wide shortage of teachers, combined with the growth in our student population, has made it necessary for districts to seek alternative ways to recruit, train and hire excellent teachers for our students. - Philadelphia

yup,
that is the entire ad. not only does the writer, apparently, not understand how to use the word “aspect” , he or she also doesn’t totally comprehend the number four.

ARE WE THAT HARD UP FOR TEACHERS THAT THE ADs ARE BEING WRITTEN BY PEOPLE WHO DIDN”T PASS THE 6th GRADE??

apparently. sigh, oh, sigh.

HOT:

philadelphia. figuratively, as always, but also literally, lately. seriously. it’s so hot that the cacti on my window sill look like they might die. it’s so hot that little kids are running around in the park half-naked even after the sun goes down. it’s so hot that my drive through grey’s ferry and southern point breeze looks like it must be set up as a walking tour of philadelphia’s busted hydrants (i managed to get both sides of my car rinsed off without even really trying…) it’s so hot that i was on channel 6 two nights ago just because i was out running in the heat (yup, i was sweaty girl describing kelly drive as “like running through..hot soup”. it’s so hot that simon can barely stop panting long enough to bark at the sweaty high school kids doing yard work outside the window. it’s so hot that the faces of the boys on the corners exude a strange blend of lethargy and unpredictable anger, and the backs of the cop’s blue collared shirts are perpetually dark with sweat. heat. everywhere.

NOT:
phonics. let me let you in on a little secret. so, i am an expert at remedial reading programs, the kind that use brain research to create multi-sensory channels towards phonemic and phonetic awareness that can’t be established the traditional way. this is a lucrative skill, one that is going to build up my meager little savings account. however, as i often forget between summers: i hate it. i hate one-on-one tutoring, generally, and i hate phonics, specifically. the other day i sat flopped down on the bed, groaned, and asked doron to guess how much of my day had been devoted to short vowels. the answer? at least 70%. it’s weird how developing a skill can seem like a good idea at the time, but once one has said skill, then it becomes a bit of a trap. as in, once i’ve handed over my resume, i can’t just get a cushy test prep tutoring gig with some private school girl who is worried about getting into brown. no, i score the 12-14 year olds who have had the crushing bad luck to be born with crippling dyslexia. they get bored and frustrated, i get bored and frustrated, and the whole system whereby one needs to learn to read to excel in modern american society begins to take on the sick pallor of a cruel joke. i can’t even get any good mileage our of complaining about how “hard” it is for ME, because, shit, when I go home from two hours of orton-gillingham drills, i can READ. (something that I am really, really trying not to take granted these days….)

so awhile back i got one of those emails that directed me to take an online poll sponsored by the american family association. i actually did said poll, only to find out that it was less a genuine effort to establish numbers on the nation’s opinions of the “gay lifestyle” and more a way to gather email addresses.
so.
now i get emails from the afa, like, every other day. one might expect that this would be either
a) infuriating
b) super annoyying
c) disgusting
d) all of the above

and, of course, it is. but i have found the silver lining. the other day i had a winner in my inbox that announced “your tax dollars helped fund a transgendered prom!!” without reading the entire treatise (which, came complete with links to articles and email addresses of “important people” to whom i could voice my discontent) and quickly fired back a reply that said “sweeet! i love proms! and trannies! short of, oh, say, public education or health care, this is high on my list of fantastic uses for tax dollars!”.
this “keepin it real reply” strategy has really been making my days.
i’ve gotta say, though, today i got one instructing me to boycot ford because they apparently sponsored some pride weekend events. ok. i got it. some people are proud to be gay, and other people get mad at them because they are hateful conservative chrisitians (who most likely were not loved as children…) and if you are the later, you don’t want to buy cars from people who give money to the former. whatever.
this time, however, i went ahead and read through the email, and as the afa made their case against
ford, specifically by pointing fingers at their embrace of “diversity” (they informed me it was a code word for “homosexuality” ) i got to thinking, wow, these people are fucking crazy. like, much crazier than i previously thought. and i don’t really get it. i mean, i’m obviously real interested in pyscho-pathology of, you know, america…and i’m sure that there are many reasons, conscious and unconscious for all of the hate. but it’s just so fucked up. and it makes me wonder. until i can figure it out, i’m going to keep on writing back to their emails, just to make myself feel better. and i think they are doing to become my go-to scapegoat when it comes to placing blame.
ex: just after i read the last article, steve and i were discussing clear gummy bears, and how they are the best flavor ever. like clear lifesavers, they are always disproportionately underrepresented. and never, ever sold on their own. somebody is hating on pineapple, even though it is clearly fantastic.
i blame the afa.

fucking bastards.

so i should most certainly not be blogging right now. the house is a mess, the laundry is in a snarl on the floor of the “study” (aka “tiny room where we keep the laundry”) and i have to pack up my clothes and some blankets and bug spray to travel across the state the go to the koehler family reunion. in eastern p.a., my family is nestled (lodged? crammed?) close to my mom’s side of the family, and so this one weekend of the year is the time we go see my dad’s side of the family at a mouse-infested cabin in the woods that my great grandfather purchased at the turn of the century, thinking maybe he’d move his family ouf of the city and start a farm.
anyway. the school year just ended and i’m reeling from changings and adjustments, worried about my kids over the summer, and exhausted in that way that makes you feel kind of bruised and vulnerable. kind of like an emotional hangover.
this is where things started when i found myself listening to loudon wainwrights “daughter” most popularly knows as “that song from the end of knocked-up” and crying all over the place in the kitchen.
the song has some pretty great lyrics, which i’m pretty sure don’t come across as anything but cheesey in the absence of loudon w. himself and his gravely, earnest voice. (that’s my daugher in the water/ everything she knows i taught her, everything she knows/ that’s my daughter, i lost everytime i fought her, i lost everytime..everything i say, she takes to heart) the song goes on with a lot more “everythings” and “every times” and i think that’s what brought the tears.
i’ve been thinking about relationships a lot lately, and changes ,and distances, and, of course, feeling sad that my little brother has moved time-zones away. and so i think it’s the mention of the everythings that a father can feel for his daughter that has me feelin sentimental. because how often in your life, and for how long, will you ever feel like you know anything about anyone that can be qualified so expansively. i guess maybe just a parent and a child, and the not for long. there’s another line in the song where he says “that’s my daughter in the water, every ime she fell i caught her, every time”. and i mean, who can you feel that way about? that you caught them… everytime? people have separate independent lives, you know? that must be such a hard change for parents. it’s still a hard truth for me whenever i realize it.

that’s right, last weekend was our five year reunion, and, despite the bizarre quality of the whole affair, i’m going to go ahead and give it four out of four stars.

as i drove up the merrit on saturday morning, i was happy about the most mundane and familiar routines: the asshole new york drivers, the crappy coffee at the stamford rest stop, the musical selection that hot 97 had to offer…and this sensation really didn’t wear off until i re-entered new york about 36 hours later.

here’s a selection of photos, and a little play by play…

i got to wesleyan early on saturday morning, and i imagine that i was not the first ‘02er to look blankly at the sophomore who told me i’d be staying in “favre” and say “um, the rugby dorms?”. my first sigthing was leia, complete with a hawaiian tan/ raw good commune glow, who claimed she saw me from a distance by my “swagger”. (what the hell?) we woke up everyone else. an hour passed while erica got ready, (she takes so long, but then she looks so slammin that we forgive her, every time) then
we started the day by going to brewbakers bagels on main street, where i tried to photograph my beautiful friends. some of them were less cooperative than others:

after bagels, we walked down main street to the north end, where the community garden had been replaced by a new mixed-income housing project, and although the kids on scooters and corners were the same from a distance, obviously we didn’t know them. we looked into the windows of the green street art center, reminisced about our mentees, mused about what it means to engage with a neighborhood and then leave, and wondered what was next for the little community.
then we walked back up to main street and back to campus. i was so happy to walk around middletown. i know it’s not really a desination, but i love that place.

on the way back someon suggested that maybe we could try to relive our college experience condensed into one day- like, we’d make friends at breakfast, then run ourselves into a tizzy of idealistic protest around noon…i’d make some “dating mistakes” during junior year aka the afternoon, danielle would come out, i’d take a mono-nap, and then we’d spend dinner time freakin out about how our soc degrees had left us qualified to do little more than gentrify the fuck out of brooklyn.
it was a funny idea, but a little bit too complicated in practice. we decided to go play instead.

we ended up back on foss hill with a more extended crew of friends. thus emerged a theme that was going to carry through the rest of reunion– the freshman herd. not since before i could drink legally have i been in the agitating position of trying to figure out how to move and motivate with a disorganized group of more than twenty. of all the things i miss about college, and there are many, attempting to figure out where and when “everybody” was going is not one of them.
( highlights during the hour or so that it took to round everyone up and begin the trek to miller’s pond– free cupcakes, sunshine, and identifying sabina from afar based soley on the fact that she was rocking cowboy boots)

then we swam in miller’s pond, where i hadn’t been since sept. 11th 2001 (this is a very long other story, that might be written about one of these days, who knows…), and sat out on the rocks bullshitting and eating free doritos courtousy of the “picnic lunch” under the tent.

it’s probably going to be a theme of this post that i obsess over the smokin hotness of my friends (i just can’t help myself) but i’d esp. like to give a shout out to all my bathing beauties, who had lovely healthy bodies, which is to say smiling faces and cute little natural stomachs that say “yes, in fact, i have better things to do than hit the gym for an abs workout everyday on my way home from the office”. lovely.

escape from typical mid-twenties routines was a really refreshing piece of the whole reunion atmosphere. maybe it was the twlight-zone esque sensation of re-living college, or maybe it was the fact that i have cool friends, but our conversations never went in the scary “class-notes” direction that i had feared. no one talked about the price of houses, their “next move”, their career trajectory, or their accomplishments…actually, no one really talked about their jobs at all except to tell the occasional funny story, or to explain (in two cases) why they had just quit without much of a plan…

after millers, we went back to our dorms to dress up for dinner. before the weekend, dina and i had been texting about the nauseating task of finding clothes for the reunion. (on, oh, say, wedensday, i realized that maybe we were supposed to look “cute” or at least “together”. arggh.) at one point, i sent her a msg that said “class dinner–jeans or nicer? yoga pants? please?” and she replied “nice jeans?”
and i did some research, and replied “never mind, the shit is in MOCON”. (though a the last minute, i still decided to go with a dress. i have to say that getting gussied up in a bathroom full of giggly girls is really fun, and something i miss in my life with just my dog and my man.)
our hall, dressed up for dinner:

overall, our class dinner was pretty bizarre. on a scale of one to nasty, the foood rated as pretty gross. (of course we all ate it anyway, because if there’s one thing you learn in college, it’s not to go to tent party on an empty stomach). one highlight was eric and bajir’s successful effort to make our balloon centerpiece airborn, while a serious lowlight was a speech made by some admissions/university relations woman who told us all about how much more prestigious and competetive wes was becoming. “i know you’re wondering– would you be admitted as freshman now? the answer is, i don’t kow” she intoned, letting us in on the sensational news that 66% of the class or 2013 had taken two or more calculus classes. of course at my table of transfers, we were all like, “um, you didn’t even see fit to admit us as freshmen in 98″, a sentiment that i always like to garnish with “high honors, bitches”.
the main coup of dinner occurred when jessie and i had the foresight and economical savy to collect and deposit into our purses all of the left over wine from the dinner tables. (let’s see the class of 2013 problem solve that kind of style)

we then went back to our dorm to drink before the parties (oh, flashbacks) and out to foss hill to watch fireworks. i don’t have too too much to say about any of this, except to note that watching fireworks on a warm night while cuddling with long lost friends is pretty fantastic. i should also note that all of our alcohol was commandeered sans payment from the folks at university relations (the handles were courtousy of jack’s ability to charm the sense our of just about anyone without even trying….) it’s possible that i should also mention that i managed to fall on my face in front of a posse of seniors,while on a mission to pee in the westco courtyard. good times.

the tent party was pretty standard, replete with drunken seniors (who sonia graced with such congratulations as “welcome to the void” and “tomorrow i the first day of the worst year of your life”)
and spilled beer. i don’t remember that much about this part of the night, except trying to get any of my friends to hook up with a certain muscular business school student who we always liked to refer to as “so all american he makes you feel like you’re at a barbaque”, and a rousing version of “livin on a prayer” that was sung with more fervor than any fight song.

the next morning, running on a less than adequate amound of sleep, d and i made our way to athenian to meet my main man jonathan cutler for breakfast. you know that feeling of plain old happy that comes when, say, you’re driving in the car, on the way to somewhere you want to be going, and a song comes on that fits your mood so exactly, that for about three and half minutes there’s just a whole lot of rightness? coffee with danielle and jc was sort of like that, except for two hours. i love those two.

after breakfast, we wandered out onto the hill to lie in the grass and watch the 175th commencement. it was pretty standard: bennet mumbled, the sound system crackled, some lowerclassmen from hewitt dragged a couch out onto the hill to lie on during the ceremony…
from our shady spot with a great view, we reminisced about how sad we’d been at graduation, and everyone got a little bit quiet. i kept on catching myself feeling so sad that everyone was leaving, and not just to go back to their houses, or the library, but to disperse across the country to completely separate lives. but then i’d realize, over and over again, that, yes, that was happening. but it had been happening for t he last five years, and here we were, no worse for the wear. perhaps better for it.

there’s something about such a solid dose of entitled liberal arts brainwashing that is not dissimilar to a night of heavy drinking. it’s fun and intoxicating while it lasts but rought as hell once it’s over. wesleyan gave us the double whammy of preaching intense liberal guilt over the state of the world, and filling us with glorified self-importance over our would be roll in fixing it. wandering out into the “real world” i think that most of us weren’t met with a disarming possibility– could we, in fact, be useless? shit, i know i was. that made for a rought couple of years as i realized that my most honed skills (killer abs, sophisticated social theorizing, fantastic vocabulary) didn’t mean shit to the middle schoolers of newark, or (surprise!) north philadelphia. in that period i felt this mix of intense nostalgia for wesleyan, along with an ever-burning resentment at the whole place for letting me live in such an anti-reality. i sort of couldn’t believe that such a place had the nerve to exist. but coming back now, with feeling strong and level-headed, and perhaps more generous in spirit felt a bit like making amends.

when the admissions lady opened up her speech to us at our dinner, she asked the wrong question. she should have said “i know you’re all wondering…was the educational experinece at wesleyan worth the hundres of dollars you’re paying back in loans, every month, for the rest of your life? was it worth being pampered and entitled to meet the people you’re sitting with, and to grow into the person you ended up as?” i’m not gonna lie, over the last five years, i have asked this question a lot. sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes furiously, sometimes with a kind of bored habitual cynicism. the answer varies, but the great thing is that my answer doesn’t matter at all. what’s done is done. i can’t go back and decide that i’d rather not spend year of my life and tens of thousands of dollars to learn about race and class dynamics in a grey town with crappy weather, doing small group work with kids who use “summer” as a verb. all i can do is take nostalgic field trips and try and count my blessings.

so i just wrote an entire post complaining about how much i hate the month of march, and how much of a funk i’ve been in (rain! sleet! snow! daylight savings! feeling fat! mice! standardized tests! no house keys! fuck!). then i loked at my post, felt vaguely nauseous (mysterious latent stomach ailment!) and erased it.
one of my most consistent teacher lines is "don’t cry about it!" applied to whining over math tests, cold classrooms, fights of any kind, and many other complaints, and i felt like maybe it was time to take my own advice. anyway, i was cleaning out some old papers today in my office, and i found some old daily journal writings from my man josh jordan. josh was one of my favorite students ever. he had big ears, a big smile, and he stuttered. he also had no parents and, when i met him, had just been taken away from his grandfather’s cousin, this tiny little old lady who he referred to as his grandma. he lived in a big group home, then in a small group home, and took the whole thing in stride, remaining loving and curious and polite:  all the things you want in any kid, but that surprise and delight you in someone whose childhood sucked bad. anyway.  in honor of trying to be a good person, and march madness, here are two of jj’s journals from the last two years

Journal
September 21, 2005

Question: If you found out that you were only going to live until the age of 20, what are 5 things you would like to accomplish and why?

My first thing to accomplish is not be lonely before i die. my second thing accomplish is to not fight. My third thing to accomplish is do good things. My fourth thing is to win a nobel peace prize. My fifth thing is to be a happy living man.

Journal:
March 25, 2005:

Question: Who do you think is going to win the NCAA championship?
      I think that UNC will win because they have got a bomb squad. They are a good team. They could even beat the Owls if they put they minds to it. Just kidding, the Owls are bums.  I am pretty sure that UNC will win.

….anway, i loved josh jordan. and i love thinking about awesome surprising kids. they are way, way, better than cryin about march. (although march sure does suck. geeez)

here’s a picture from 2 springs ago at the end of our first year at AMMS

So I got an email from the smokin hot and fantastically smart ms. erica flashman, requesting that I maybe update my blog so she could read it while procrastinating over her midterms. I don’t know how many of you have had the pleasure of knowing eri, but if you have, you will probably agree that she is almost impossible to say no to (unless she is holding a map and telling you which way to turn. then you maybe should say no. but everyone’s got one failing…)
anyway. here is a sleepy update. topics will range from newark to jazz trios.

first of all, let me say that although it has been pointed out by various ppl, i am aware that i never did follow up and do a review of san francisco. i started, but it was kind of hard to get in all of my disparate thoughts:
nina barrett is awesome…”egg” is the best new adjective of the year…rich people are so good looking…hipsters are so disconcerting…i should have gone to law school, or better yet, my dad should have gone to law school…is reality over-rated? is having a history over-rated? am i finally over my california envy?
basically, i realized that it was impossible to discuss my opinions of sf without going into a long explanation of my most fundamental personal values. which seemed like a tall order.
when people out here ask how our trip was, i generally tell them that san francisco was gorgeous, but also kind of weird, that i felt sort of like we had taken a really, really long trip to whole foods, that invovled flying, and changing time zones. don’t get me wrong. i fuckin love whole foods. but i understand it’s not a real grocery store.
anyway. maybe i’ll give you the low-down on our trip one of these days, but i kind of doubt it. the big news of late is that my baby brother just got hired by the sf transit planning somethin-somethin and will be moving out there in a matter of months. though i by no means plan to stop implying that there is something a little funny about sf, i am incredibly excited to visit him, frequently.

back in philly, things are kind of ugly. not with us, we’re fine. but the city itself does not give one the sense that she has wandered into a scenic anti-reality. no, philly seems to have all of the reality it needs, and then some. when we left the city was being racked by scandals about children dying in DHS care, and the school district had announced that they were somehow running at an 80 million dollar deficit. this month, neither of those problems has been solved and the new news is that there have been a few high profile assaults on teachers, and school violence is at an all-time high. the most striking case was one where a boy broke a teacher’s neck after his ipod was confiscated in math class. today i was at a swanky engagment brunch out in the mansion of chestnut hill, where i was all of the sudden the authority on “bad schools”, the new hot topic. there was wine, and brie, and a jazz trio, and conscientious mount airy liberals, who had sent their children through 16 years of private school kept asking me my opinion of “everything that’s happening in the public schools”. what they didn’t seem to realize was the even thinking about it made me want to go sit in a dark room and not talk to anyone. i hate school violence. i hate it that we’ve let kids grow up in chaos and violence, with parents whose own mental illness often keeps them from parenting, and then we wonder why we can’t educate them on a shoe-string. these topics are not my idea of small talk.
when i taught in “the bad schools” i was asaulted on four different occasions. i was lucky enough to never get seriously hurt, but i did develop nasty anxiety attacks that made me sick for about a year of my life. the lesson i learned from this was that even small traumas can fuck you, and when i imagine what my kids how suffered massively, massively humumgously larger tragedies would need to be put right, it makes me want to cry from exhaustion. and when i think of what schools (i mean, who else is doing it?) need to be able to try to serve so many damaged children, and then i remember that they don’t even have any money as it is, lately i don’t even want to talk about it. it makes me that rattled.

speaking of money, money is a whole nother story. but i might save that one for later.

in other random news another winning moment at today’s swanky brunch was when my mom and i were talking to this woman about my brother’s new job. the (annoyying) woman was going on and one about how her son worked in LA, and she has had “such a blast” driving him out there, doing a thinly veiled job at trying to show off what a cool mom she was. barf. i mentioned something about a cross country college trip my mom and brother had taken (it was reported to be a nightmare), and the woman, who hadn’t been listening, looked over at me and said “oh, are you looking at colleges?”.
i almost kicked her in the shins.

it was doubly annoyying 1) to be mistaken for a 17 year old when i am in fact 26 and 2) to implicitly know that this was probably in part because this was clearly the kind of mom who LOVED to talk about colleges, and who had had her son’s college counselor on speed dial for his whole senior year. gag me with a 2007 volvo.

on a less cricial note, dor and i just watched ’streetfight’ which is a documentary about the newark mayor’s race in 2002, between cory booker and sharpe james. even if you intrigued by newark, and/or feeling sort of obsessed with race and election, i highly recommend it. interesting stuff.

summary:

san francisco: yes
whole foods: yes
jazz trios: yes
school violence: no
mental health inequality: no
newark: maybe
cory booker: yes
swanky brunch: maybe
annoyying lady: no

san francisco: the good news and the bad news.

brace yourselves.

not tonight, though. what a freakin exhausting week. but it’s almost done:

made it home to philly: check
didn’t cry after feeling the ice-cold wind for the first time in four days: check
pulled it together to present for curriculum review: check
molded minds: check
didn’t fall on ice while running the dark: check
caught mice who have terrorizing our pantry: check

all that’s left is a drink, dinner, and falling asleep on the couch. ah, fridays.

I don’t care is she’s a tape dispenser- I love her!