Entry #20

Style Points

Working at a school can make you self-conscience about your stlye...even if you fancy yourself a "confident" person. You gotta try to look professional, but not dorky, and also not sell-out on your personal style beliefs.

I am at a cooperative house eating at a huge table for their annual "punksgiving" dinner. Not quite the most accurate name for the event, but everyone gets the idea. Politically radical people getting together around thanksgiving time and eating vegan food. I even dressed up a bit for irony's sake I guess. In true cooperative house style, we are going around the table with an awkward get to know you game where you say your name and then share your biggest fear. "Fear of not sledding enough," I say just to combat the awful answer of "fear of driving in the snow." Move to Cleveland if you want to see real snow.

On the way home, skateboard wheels approached from behind, probably someone from the dinner. No, I did not recognize this skater boy. I gave him that skater/punk/radical/shared views kind of head nod...and got a blank stare back to my dress shoed, khakied, button up shirt, adult hat wearing lameness. He did not recognize me either. My biggest fear was realized.

Call it gradeschool to fret over style, to make an effort to contrast the homogeneous look of the everyday man only to identify with a smaller equally homogeneous subculture. But that combination of contrast with identity, feels good. It's me. So I will not look too professional, or too dorky, and I will wear a Nirvana era Dave Grohl patch on my hooded sweatshirt to school. It's just a matter of what you want to hear, and what you want to talk about. Them: "you look professional" Me: "Thanks, I'm a slave to societal standards" Them: "That shirt is tacky, where'd you get it, JC penny?" Me: "I think it looks nice" Them: "Who is that girl on that patch?" Me (with excitement): "THIS is Dave Grohl, let me tell you...." I can't just stand by and let my worst fear get the best of me.

Entry #19

Full Time Job

To have a trade is to work anytime on any day. The village doctor is bound to the village by the trade. Expected and demanded to help, even when under qualified, to just offer relief of worry if anything. Like a musician. It is not what you do, it is what you are. Music is your reflex to living. You'll sing to strangers in strange places, you'll sing to family at weddings and funerals. You'll sing for supper, you'll sing because you want to, you'll sing because you have to. The doctor will heal in the middle of the night. The plumber will fix the leak on a Saturday. And the musician will give the starting note for a birthday song, or fill in the church choir for the holidays, or entertain a party...well...go ahead....you must have a song you know!? You ARE a musician aren't you? Yes indeed I am, a family trade you could say.

Entry #18

Chaos, or luck, or fate...or something

Call it whatever you want. There is some force that seems to make things happen…even if that force is just the comedy that is your life. Me and my friends like to tempt that force by traveling the country playing at “shows” in punk bands. We are leaning back on a rope that’s frayed. The crust band is playing and the crusty turn out is in full effect. They dance into the hot water tank and water starts to flood the basement. Set over. Show over? They turn off the water. We set up out off the water and trust the rubber in our shoes. Someone trips out the extension cord to the lights/PA/amps and he thinks the fuse blew…so he flips ALL the switches. Electrician guy at the show says the circuit breaker is shot. Show over, party starts. We did not come for a party. Through the kindness of some friends we manage to get a few bucks…and a place to finish the show. After a few calls the announcement is made by our hero that the show has been moved…to our tourmates ex-boy’s house. What are the chances? 100% in this comedy. On the way out some idiot sexually harasses our friend and our other friend pushes him and they take off. We are standing there like, "what happened” and drunk guy is all like, “are you all lining up to me?…I’ll kill you.” My brother is pissed. I have to push my brother into the car and say we are leaving and we do, quickly. We get to the other show, I mean party, and we set up quick and both bands play quickly. The people are nice and it is well received. We even had fun. Then one of the party house's residents decides that a closing acoustic performance is necessary....by him on the mini-ramp outside. He plays for too long and everyone is yelling. I am loading the last thing, a snare drum, and the cops roll up on us. I tell them they are probably looking for the one gloved frat boy boxing match raging at the end of the street. They tell me they are looking for the loud bands. I say our show got cancelled so we came to this party for an acoustic performance. They ask if we got payed. No. Then the guys at the house come out. Every weekend this month the cop says to the party boys. We seem to be in the clear but the house ends up with a $300 ticket and we drive off laughing at the force that is laughing at all of us.

Entry #17

I Rule

We are outside at the picnic table doing a natural found art project. Tying sticks together with yarn and gluing beads on rocks as eyes. Nothing like brand new glue...you don't have to squeeze it too hard to get it to come out and it is not all blocked up with old crusty glue. This glue had a seal under the screw top and the kids just could not get it off. Me to the rescue. I stick my thumbnail under the lip of the rubber stopper and pop it out. The glue blob shined in the sun and hung in the air for what seemed like minutes. Half the bottle. Covered one sleeve. A glob inside a hood. Most of it in red long hair. She was shocked. But, she took it well while everyone else freaked out at me. I took the 3 victims to the bathroom to wash up, which it all came out no problem. Like every hero enters the scene to loud roars of the crowd, I could hear the kids chanting "SUE HIM, SUE HIM!" as I walked the kids back to the playground. Did I mention it was a private school with a high tuition? I said, "the solution to every problem is not to sue someone." I am glad it came out with water.

Entry #16

Who am I to say?

It is hard to tell what will really affect kids in the long run. I always just try to give kids the skills they need to deal with their current environment, seeing every situation as a microcosm of a situation they will deal with in another context. If they can adapt to this environment and be happy and let others be happy then they can do it in any environment. Who I am I to say that using Jenga blocks with paper scraps taped on them to make a graveyard for all pets who have passesd away over the years is kind of…well, weird?

Lead by Example

In the gym instead of outside again. It has been below 15 degress all week with mind numbing windchills.The kids need exercise. They need some kind of way to blow off steam. Hot little tea pots they are on days like these. My physical education skills are being put to the test by 35 rowdy kids after a long day of school. I am using every game I know. My throat is toast, so I grab a cone to use as a megaphone to get everyone’s attention to start round two of our hula-hoop relay race. Everyone loves the idea sooo much that they grab cones too…and all hell breaks loose. I am cracking up as my boss comes in to see what all the racket is.

Entry #15

Van Story

For all we knew, the van was running on magic at that point anyway. Our mechanic friend said not to drive it more than 200 miles, that way, if it died, triple A would tow 100, drop it off, we could call them again and have them tow it the last 100. There was a full month where it would only drive in first gear, which we did a lot…and then it miraculously worked again…so we took it on tour and drove it all the time, duh. A while later it was having problems again. If you stopped at a light, you had to drop it into first, then second, then in to drive to get it up to speed…semi-automatic my friends joked. Sooo…we drove it to Kentucky for a show on a friend’s farm. Turns out a transmission on its way out is not helped by steep hills, equipment, and 7 people. We were not surprised, the time had come, we used up all the magic. We tried one last time and then left it on the side of the hill walking the remaining mile up the hill with our guitars and sleeping bags to the barn where the show was about to start. Through the night calls resulted in a place within 60 mile to tow the van and leave until we figured out what to do with it. The Tow truck arrived at 5 AM along with our bestest friends who came to pick us up and take us back to Columbus for work that day. Apparantley, the wood plank bridge across the river to the van was not sturdy enough to convince the tow truck driver that it would hold him, his truck, and our van. Like a bobsled team 8 of us are running, Pushing the van past haystacks and free roaming cows on a below freezing morning against a black sky. With the lightest person behind the wheel, we gained just enough speed to get the van up a hill and onto the precarious and icy bridge. Those on the sides jumped in the opened doors to avoid falling off and the rest gave the last push across the bridge to the tow truck. 170,000 miles. Two trips to the West Coast. A few tours to the East Coast and in the Midwest. Two trips south to Florida and back. One trip to Canada. Countless drives between Berea and Columbus. As it pulled away on the truck, I could see the thick layer of memories on all the windows in the form of frost. The dreams and friendships, the steamy windows, the sharpie scrawled directions on napkins and the gas station food wrappers. That Van took us places. We bought it, we ruined it, we loved it and hated it. A Mazda MPV 2000 mini-van, we looked like a family going to soccer practice. A week later we said goodbye to the “Most Punk Van,” the “Sailboat, the “Egg,” the “Joint,” at a Scrap Yard in Louisville. The $300 was more than I expected but it is hard to put a price on something priceless. The money went right into our friends’ gas tank to pay for gas on another tour. And so the “Joint” did what it did best…took us on one last tour.

check out www.midwestrock.org/delay for a picture of the van's last stand.

Entry #14

UNO!

If you work with kids in some capacity, it is a lot like playing Uno...sometimes literally that's what it is. But in this case...the players in your game can choose to give you a break and make your day, or they could hit you with the draw four and change the color to something you don't have. But in my book, it is better than the sure bet draw four that other jobs I have had offer. ...I enter the room to crying on my right and a drippy, broken ice baggy...an injury to the funny bone. On my left the classroom teacher asks if I can have everyone clean out the cubby after the kids have grabbed their coats and bags. All the extra stuff left behind...gloves without a partner, old snacks, toys, erasers; they all go into a big box sitting next to our circle. "OK...now that you all have your coats and bags, we need to take everything out of the cubby and put it in the big box...." Within seconds everyone one is all, "hey that's my weird piece of glittery string," and, "Hey this is John Grayson’s hat he was looking for it! I'll give it to him tomorrow..." And of course I'm all," Don't worry about what or whose it is just put it in the box." Minutes pass and children wander and spin and nothing is in the box because it is tipped over with 3 kids inside of it. Wild card, and they get to pick...

Just Like…

Lately, I have a new routine. I work later in the day so to avoid sleeping in way too late and then just getting up and going to work, I get up and go running. I feel much better this way. No matter what I do in a day, if I have ran I have at least done something. When explaining this to a friend, I defended my up early method by saying, “I’d rather get up early and then take a nap later if I’m still tired.” “Sounds like you’re on the dad schedule,” my friend said. I froze…he was right. My dad…and almost all my friend’s dad’s stay up a little late, wake up really early daily, even on the weekend, and then take an epic nap at some point in the day. “Well…I’m trying to emulate all the great dads I know!” I said through my laughter. “It’s a little early for that!” my friend joked back.

Dance Steps

“Hey, you took 4 steps!” he shouted at the boy who had just pegged him with the dodgeball. Everyone here knows that this playground only allows 3 steps before a throw. “Well,” I said, “he took 3 steps, then crow hopped, and threw. I say it’s fair.” “Crow hopped!?” they questioned. “Duh,” I thought. Why would 7 year olds understand what a crow hop is? I decided I should explain it to avoid any other dodgeball number of steps arguments. I had to think. I don’t even know how to explain it. I just do it. It’s that hop that an outfielder takes right before throwing the ball all the way to the infield. It’s an American cultural dance. Never really learned…more inherited in the backyard or ball field. Watched and then mimicked. Anytime I throw hard or far I do it like a reflex. “Well guys,” I began, “you get 3 steps and then you can do a little hop before you throw like this.” I thought showing it would be the best. “So we get 4 steps?” They weren’t getting it. “Let’s try it in slow motion. 3 steps, drag my back foot, hop up, turn, plant my back foot, step forward, and throw!” I explained. “Like 3 steps and a jump throw,” they were getting it. “Yeah, it just gives you more momentum and power,” I added. But the argument was over and the game was back on. Soon, they’ll all get it through just playing. The best way to learn it, necessity to throw further and harder to win in dodgeball. And unlike math formulas, they may never need more practice or need it re-explained. They’ll just go to throw…and do it.

More school/work Stories

Crazy Kids

Chaos is uncomfortable. The same feeling that compels me to organize my room is the one that wants kids to sit still and listen to me. But how could they? Their 6 hour school day ended just minutes before I entered their classroom. We played a game where the kids would have to mimic a rhythm I played on a plastic cup. The rhythm also included a pass of the cup and then the rhythm continued with a new cup. The speed would gradually increase. When it got to be too much I yelled and threw my cup into the air. It was followed by 10 cups, and 5 cups got smashed and the other 5 torn in half. Laughing, yelling, acting out…Chaos? Why did I feel the need to say “ok, ok, ok, let’s bring it down a notch.” I felt the same desire as they did to act out and so I did. I think I am just used to structure and instruction. Limitations. I wonder what would have happened had I just let them act out the full scene. Would they tear the place apart? Would the throw away the ruined cups and just line up for snack? I am not sure, but I’d like to find out where this “chaos” could take us.

John

I helped him down from the stage that was taller than he was. I thought it was safer then letting him plunge off of it into the air while I was supposed to be looking after him. As he ran towards the edge I called his name, “John…John! Please don’t jump off of the stage it is not safe…John.” He was oblivious to everything except “flying’ off of the stage. So as a last resort I just lightly physically slowed him down and helped him off of the stage. He sprinted down the hall to get outside as I called behind him, “walk please.” That’s when his teacher pulled me aside. “John is off of his medication this week so be patient with him.” I thanked her for the helpful explanation and felt sorry that John usually is in a medicine-induced world of docility. When I got outside I smiled to immediately see John with a foxtail in one hand, and a Frisbee in the other. “Austin, come play with me!” He yelled as the hood from his winter coat bounced around on his head like an astronauts’ space helmet. It had grown hot in the afternoon and so the rest of the coat was left behind. John’s game was aptly titled, “Frisbee Throw.” The game had rules but it never made sense to me fully. He would throw me the foxtail. If I caught it he would throw the Frisbee too. If I missed, he would say, “time for judgement,” and he would flip the Frisbee and then depending on which side came up he would arbitrarily decide if I won, lost, got points, threw him the foxtail, the Frisbee, or both, or whether I just kept them in my hands. For someone who couldn’t focus on certain things, he was so focused on this game. He wouldn’t let me quite and we played for more than an hour. It was like Calvin Ball, the game Calvin and Hobbes played in the comic we read earlier that week. The only rule was no rules, which really meant random rules. If we could all still imagine like that, we would be bored less often. And I thought about the overmedication of our society and our desire as “authority” figures to sometimes make some point to people we are “in charge” of even if they might not mentally be able to focus on us right at that moment. And I also thought about people that I know who can’t function in a healthy manner without medication. But in that moment I just wanted to play Frisbee Throw instead of thinking about all that shit. But at some point, it needs to be thought about, and I need to learn the healthiest way to interact with those around me.

Entry #11

According to Plan

Being the only sober one, I know I’m important. I like the extra attention of being the only one with the power to get people where they need to go safely. So we load up the beer soaked equipment into the van. I start it up and 10 minutes later, everyone stumbles into the van apologizing for their state of mind and thanking me for driving. They do this 100 times because they are drunk as hell…and they all think that just because I don’t drink, I dislike drinking situations, which is partly true, but on this occasion, I have all the patience in the world and nowhere to be. Shelly is puking out the window over Beth who is beside her in the one-person seat patting her on the back as we pass cops who have pulled someone over. Shawn is spouting off about who the real punks are in this town. Everyone at the Stinkhaus who is mad about the fireworks, broken TV mess, and hole in the wall are not punk. I know that they are actually just pissed off at the self-destructive…well everything destructive drunk friends who made a mess and alienated everyone during our crappy set. We didn’t even finish our last song, which was a cover…”come get drunk with me.” At least we made it to that point in the song. Maddie is in the back analyzing our set while Brent just keeps laughing and saying how pissed the Stinkhaus is and how funny he thinks that is. I say that everything went according to plan. Brent falsely fliered the show as the last Stinkhaus show ever. It was also to be a contest to see which punkhouse had the biggest TV. The winner would be announced at the show and then smashed. Knowing the Stinkhaus would hide their brand new huge HD flat screen, Brent brought a back up. From the start, Brent wanted the show to be a debacle, chaos, fun, trouble. No one did a thing to stop his devious plotting…so yeah, everything went according to plan.

Entry #10

Grammy’s Story

“They came right up to the door and knocked,” my Grammy excitedly started the story she had been waiting to tell my brother and I. “The one girl asked for ice for her friend and so I ask what happened,’’ she continued. Turns out that these two geniuses were fishing down the street from Grammy’s cottage. They decided that the fishing pole was too dirty to be in the car so one of the girls sat on the trunk and held on tight with dirty pole in hand as they drove home down the street. So duh, the girl fell off of the trunk and hit her head and was too scared to go home and ask for ice because you have to be wasted or something to make a move so sharp. Grammy decided to get them ice. “I did not let them in though because they just seemed crazy,” Grammy said, and we agreed. The one with some wits asked if Grammy thought they should go to the hospital. Grammy happened to be an expert on the subject. “Remember when I fell on black ice on my way to the store?” Grammy started off. “Well I hit my head pretty hard. Your Papa shined a light in my eyes and they dilated so I thought I would be ok to go to church. So at church I started to feel sick and so I passed a note to the man sitting next to me and told him that I had hit my head this morning and if I passed out during church to please call my husband. Turned out, he was a doctor! So he checked me out and it turns out that my head was bleeding and that I probably had a concussion. Only at church right?” my Grammy laughed. So the doctor told her what to do for the rest of the day and she was fine. So because of her divine experience, she knew she had to tell these girls to go to the doctor. I am sure that if the girl did not have a concussion, then both of the girls still needed to go to the hospital to be treated for idiot.

Entry #9

Student Teaching Stories

I saw Lewis every morning on the playground. Sometimes he would just spin around and around. Other times he would hang, swing, jump and run oblivious to everything around him but fully aware of himself. On some days I’d watch him play his make believe games. He’d crouch down in the underground hole that lined the first floor windows while he fired at imaginary Martians with his laser gun that was actually a stick. Lewis was autistic. But he was able to learn and grow in a public elementary school with some extra guidance. Lewis was in one of the Physical Education Classes I was student teaching at an elementary school. He never said a word. He usually just made noises and played out imaginary, game winning football plays, diving unnecessarily and then celebrating. He was great to have in class and only occasionally needed some extra help. He could play on a team, though the other kids on the team had to be patient, and I was so happy to see that usually, they were. During one class, another student named Sharon was having a rough day. Sharon was a student who I could easily see was pleasant under the surface but occasionally she was moody, rude, and full of attitude. I think she was probably an only child and she often had a really hard time working on a team. After that particular rough class, I pulled Sharon aside to discuss a shouting match she started with another student. Sharon was not having it she and she started to yell at me about how she hated me. “You ruined my day!” Sharon shouted at me. Lewis was standing near by and turned to Sharon to say the only words he would say during the 6 weeks I was teaching his class. “No, you’re ruining your own day!” He replied. And that was it. I did not have to deal with the situation any further, Lewis solved it. For the rest of my student teaching experience, I took Lewis’ words with me and discovered that usually, if my mood was sour, I was the one to blame.

Apparently, “planning” is very important to being an effective teacher. Really, it is just that kids are the first people to realize that you are unprepared and they do not like it. They are just not used to going with the flow, but sometimes, it works out. On a post rainy, beautiful day, rainbow colors attempted to connect but instead hung in mid air as lone streaks of beauty. We exited the trail through the woods that led from the school to the field and per usual, I began to “teach” some football skills and tactics, you know, important stuff. I realized about a couple seconds into my brilliance that no one was paying attention to me. They had all noticed the turtle walking right behind me with its neck reaching high and its face basking in the sun. I don’t know why I tried to keep talking. The magnetic force that is childhood curiosity had begun to pull the students away from my blabbing and towards the turtle. The curiosity was contagious and I was pulled to the turtle as well. The situation was rare. I did not have to say “don’t touch the turtle,” they already knew though they all wished they could take it home. I mean seriously, how many times have you seen a turtle just walking around? And that is what I ask the students and most never had. We just all took it in together. I did not try to turn it in to some “teachable moment.” Eventually, we just went on with the lesson, everyone just a bit more cheerful than they would have been. Everyone taking whatever they wanted from the turtle crossing, and it was pretty cool.

There was a group of girls that always played on the furthest field. I think they thought I wouldn’t see that they were usually just screwing around. Usually I did, and most times I would walk to their field and help them get back on track. After all, I was being “observed” and yes, I thought it would be cool to stretch their minds and try to make them enjoy something they think they couldn’t enjoy or understand or care about. This was the orchestra group. I would see them walk into school every morning with their instruments. They dressed in their own ways and were funny. They entertained each other and lived in their own little world not caring what anyone thought of them and I always liked it when their class came to the gym. Though hardly athletic, they tried and seemed to like when I tried to teach them something about football. I usually tried to make it funny, and sometimes it worked. On a highly frustrated day I heard what sounded like screaming coming from their field and on a rare occasion I lost my cool. “Who is screaming over here?!” I demanded. “No one,” they all responded with confusion on their faces. One girl asked “Was it this?” and she lifted an acorn top held between two thumbs to her mouth and blew into it. I spent the rest of the class trying to blow into the acorn top and make it whistle like she did. I keep the acorn top on my computer desk at home and occasionally give it a shot to no avail. It serves more as a reminder to not take myself too seriously.

Entry #8

Painting's for the Birds

Spring was finally showing its face so we took art day outside at aftercare. While a few kids painted group murals, the other kids played on the playground. Eventually everyone got a chance to paint, even me. It was hardly a mural. Jackson Pollock met finger paint and kid mixed colors on old science fair boards. But it was nice. Hardly work. Everyone was “working together,” which meant that they were so preoccupied with their own part of the mural that they did not disrupt anyone else. I felt a drop on my shoe that soaked right through my sock. Someone was not being careful with the paint. But who was using white paint? Anybody? Bird shit. I laughed. The kids lost it. When I pointed out how close it was to landing in their paint trays, we laughed even harder while entertaining the idea of using it to paint clouds on the mural. As I cleaned up I realized that I had been crapped on 3 times by birds in my short life. Isn’t that more than the average?! I guess I’m a lucky guy.

Entry #7

Some Comics by me

Entry #6

Movie Night

Columbus winters can get long. Especially when spring shows it face only to be slapped away by another wave of cold rain/snow/ice. Don’t get me wrong, I love the calm that fresh snow can bring. I love to sled. I love snowball fights and forts. I love jumping off of garage roofs into snow drifts as much as any youth. But as I’ve gotten older, into “adulthood” I guess, the seasons affect my moods more, and this winter was getting to me. Luckily, Matt wanted to sneak into a movie. Glad to be rescued from an evening of self-loathing and boredom, I gladly went, in through the back door, into the bathroom, then into the soft seats unscathed. Why sneak in when we could easily pay? Why not?! Aside from an explanation of sticking it to some corporate theatre, it was just plain fun. It felt like living the pages of a good summer punk zine, where everyday is a scheme and a scam. Joe and Troy’s tall boys of shitty beer sat in the cup holders and my feet sat stretched out on the open seats in front of me. I’d never thought someone could drink beer in a movie theatre, I’d never snuck into a movie in my entire life. But it was easy. We can do anything. We own our lives. It was far from epic. But it felt good.

Entry #5

Pucker Up

“Austin, can I tell you a secret?” she asked. “Of course you can, but there are certain things I wouldn’t want to keep a secret so just know that if you tell me, I might have to tell someone else,” I cautiously responded. You never know what a young child is about to say so I was ready for anything, and since it is my job to look after these kids from 2:30-6pm everyday, I thought I should give the at work answer. “We are just playing this game called ‘Kissy Girl,’” she said, and I was both intrigued and relieved. “Basically, boys want to play with us but we don’t want them to play with us, we want time to play alone. So when the boys come near us, we pretend we want to kiss them. Then they get grossed out and run away.” Wow, what a concept I thought. “Don’t you think that could backfire?” I prodded. “What do you mean?” she asked innocently. “Well…what if the boys actually do want to kiss you, then what will you do?” “That’s really gross!” she said as she ran off completely convinced that my hypothesis was as far fetched as rain that tastes like soda. “Yeah,” I shouted after her, “you’re right.”

Entry #4

A writer, right?

I am a little obsessive at times, though I am working on it. When I know I’ll be gone for a long time, I want to pack almost everything I can think of. I need that book that I got for Christmas from my Uncle. I can finally lift the weight from my mind that is that book and when he asks, I’ll tell him all about its twisting plot line. I’ll bring my walk-man and a tape with a friend’s band on it so that the next time I see them play, I’ll sing every word. I’d think, how can I leave? There is so much I want to do. And so I'd try to take the undone projects with me. My pockets are the same when I leave the house. I pack my wallet and a camera, my cell phone and my weekly planner. Then for the rest of the day I check each pocket obsessively to make sure I still have each item…and to make sure I remember to use each item, or at least remember to acknowledge their possible uses as I review the rationale for pocketing them to begin with. Sometimes I grab a compass hoping to use it on whatever adventure would hopefully come my way, though I know I won’t even need it. It was the idea of it that put it in my pocket, the fear it would never get used sitting on my desk. I grabbed my pocketknife as well, and like other times, I hoped to be called upon to cut a thread, spread some butter, or even open a can the old fashioned way. But like I said, I’m changing my ways. Only the things I need from now on. If you limit your options you can focus, I thought. I threw away clothes I never wore and kept only the necessities. I sold CDs I never listened to and when I left the house, I packed the only tools I thought I could need. The only things that I thought could really affect someone. A knife can cut thread, but words can impact emotions. I’d never need anything so long as I could write anything down at any time. So I brought pen and paper, but the paper came home blank. I only wrote when I got home, and this was all I wrote. I did no cutting of any kind and so I sat and imagined an interview from the future with me as famous writer. I say, “Well you know, I only carry pen and paper, and then I live, then I write.” “Wow,” I imagine the interviewer saying, “a true craftsmen.” When they ask me how I knew I was a writer, I would answer, “I’ve always known. I have always had crazy ideas in my head running around, now I just write them down, and so that makes me a writer.”

IF THE SPRING DOESN'T COME, THEN WE WILL MELT THE SNOW AND MAKE IT COME.

Entry #3

Tinker Bells

Basically, I come into the room at the very end of the school day and I have to kill about 10 minutes with anywhere from six to 15 six to nine year old kids. Their teacher puts them into a circle and then she leaves. That’s where I come in…and also where mass chaos ensues. My responsibilities are to get them ready for the aftercare program I work for at a Montessori School. I take attendance, I give them information they need, they ask 1,000 questions, they put away their stuff, and they get anything they need for the day. Then I line them up and we go to snack. Sounds easy. But it’s those 5 extra minutes that are tough. Sometimes I have a plan, and sometimes it works. Other times I just hang ten on the unpredictable wave that is young children. I just play it by ear and see what happens. After weeks of craziness, pulling out Calvin and Hobbes had finally grabbed their attention. I read a little bit each day and it had been working wonders. Yesterday, a few kids were not in the mood. So as I told the others to gather round, I let anyone not into Calvin and Hobbes do their own thing as long as they were quiet and sitting. Two girls seemed to be observing a plant that the classroom had and I thought wow, the curiosity of youth is great, and so I let them continue “studying” the plant while I read. They eventually joined us for the second comic but before I started, I noticed that another student had dirt in her hair. It did not take me long to put it together and I sent the two plant studiers with their unfortunate victim to clean out her hair. I continued the comic and habitually fixed my hair…realizing that I too had been struck by the dirt team. I continued reading knowing that at this point everyone had dirt in their hair. But I couldn’t drop that bomb or chaos would return. I finished the page and we headed for snack. We stopped to wash hands…and hair before we entered the cafeteria. As everyone entered, I kept the dynamic duo back for a discussion, you know, in true Danny Tanner style. I crouched down to their level, and I got serious but still compassionate, you could almost hear the cheesy music playing in the background as the moral of the episode unfolded. “Now while I think there is some humor in what you did,” I said, “I think you owe everyone an apology. You took your joke too far by including people who did not want to be involved. Do you understand why what you did was not ok?” The leader of the duo spoke up, “We are ferries and we were just sprinkling everyone with magic ferry dust.” Wow, I thought, that’s a way better answer than I could have expected. The second chimed in, “The magic ferry dust is going to give everyone the chicken pocks.” I was amazed. It was like she was convinced that this was ok and their duty. I had no idea what was going on their heads. I sent them to snack to apologize and knew that my job would be full of moments like that…and that was ok with me.

Entry #2

I was on my way to stupid campus area burrito place when I realized that I still had a birthday gift certificate for another more stupid burrito place that I was passing. Everyone was meeting at stupid place #1 for a birthday meal of a friend. In the interest of saving money, and the idea that it would be funny, I decided to buy a burrito with the gift certificate and walk it down to the other place to eat it with the b-day crew. I held the door to stupid burrito place realizing someone was right behind me, a cop. He told me to go ahead and then reminded me why I held the door in the first place other than just being a nice guy, I did not know what I wanted! His shifting feet back and forth behind me told me to hurry up and decide, after all, he had a job to do. I spit out my rushed decision of an order, and then proceeded to struggle with my wallet to quickly get out the change to make up the 46-cent difference that my certificate didn’t cover. On my way out the door the cop laughed and said, “it’s about time you upgraded from Velcro!” Though witty rebuttals ran through my mind, I just laughed. I got burned.


AND SOME FUN PICS!

SKATE OR DIE!


JUMP ROPE AND NEVER DIE!