Snow Line

I took this picture just yesterday. Now I am back home, in the coldest apartment in the world. I have been colder here in the last twenty hours than I ever was in the winter wonderland of Canadialand.

Goodbye Beautiful British Columbia. Goodbye English muffin sandwiches, and donuts shaped like rocks. Goodbye mutant starfish and America driven entertainment. So long monopoly money and 20 cents more. Goodbye vacation. I cannot bear to name the things I must once again say hello to. Weep for me, America. Weep for me and then send me things. Please send me things.

My camera works again

Okay. I'm back. My camera wasn't working for a couple of months. It would tell me the batteries were dying right after a fresh charge and then shut down on me. Just this week, though, my friend's boyfriend held it in his magic hands, pressed all the buttons and everything has been working fine since. So lay your blood offererings or bowls of fruit or whatever you hookers do to Ben during your usual ritual hour.

This picture was taken a couple of days ago from a Volkswagon Jetta on the way up to Mt. Seymour in Beautiful British Columbia. Just a little ways down the hill, not so much snow. Once you start climbing it's like Santa's Village. I went skiing for the first time ever this day. That shit hurts. I got to learn how to manage all the sticks involved in this popular winter sport in a group with about 10 kids between the ages of 9 and 13. I thought those snow hos might know to separate kid and adult classes, but I think I may have been the only grown up on the mountain that day who didn't come out of the womb with a Burton one-piece and goggles on.

Anysore, my instructor assured me I made excellent progress and gave me props for my improvement over those cold two hours. I can't lie. I had fun. Especially when that pissy little 9-year-old, Curtis, fell on his face when he couldn't hold on to the tow rope anymore. He just lied there in the snow while skiers and snowboarders slid past him. He lied there so long. I was wondering where the polar bears and arctic foxes were. That was some sweet fresh meat right there.

Now I wear the badges of my day's efforts where no one can see. My arms and legs cry every hour on the hour. So send me your epsom salts and wives tales cures (say that 10 times fast).

Vote No on Prop 8

IMP. Integrated math is great. Students have to explain process. The simple matter of a right answer won't get you far.

The gays are everywhere.

Lunch time

This is from my most recent lunch supervision duty patrol.

There's this group of mentally retarded kids that come out for part of our lunch from the school we share our building with. Some of them, you just look at their faces and you know they are different. Whether it's the heavy eyelids and huge smile of the students with Down's or the unusually clenched hands of other kids, there is usually some kind of indicator that signals, This kid is different from you.

So if you don't have one of the physical markers, and if you're not holding hands with one of the aides, you look like any other kid from the other school who shouldn't be out during our lunch time. The kid I'm thinking about, he strays from the pack. He'll go and try to talk with different cliques of our students who always look a little confused when he leaves them. Once, though, when I first met him, he decided to whistle and say something nasty about how good I looked. I can't remember the firey, furious, speech I gave him. "Who do you think you are" was somewhere in there.

Then some kid told me "He's with those other retarded kids."

Oh (momentary remorse). So? (anger fully intact)

He's done it once more since his initial compliment.

Happy Halloweenie

No one here was dressed as a pumpkin, sadly.

I hope nothing terrible happened to you.

Fashioning Change

Fashioning Change was a fashion show fundraiser held last night for the Barack Obama campaign. I've never given money to a political campaign, and I likely wouldn't have given any money to this political campaign if a fashion show hadn't lured me in.

East bay fashion and jewelry designers filled a medium sized space just south of Market and they brought all of their followers with them. This was not a city crowd. As I observed, there was a certain too cool for school vibe absent from the event that reinforced my love of the east bay. Could I turn down a warehouse space in the Dogpatch or Potrero Hill? Not a chance. But I'd move while quietly telling myself it's only temporary and I'll be back in the open spaces and warmer temperatures of Oakland in the future, when I've had my fun.

And don't get me wrong. I love the city too, and I know not everyone there carries that cooler than thou bearing. And I suppose I've outed myself as being someone who goes to places where I experience the throngs in their chunky glasses, grandpa hat and vintage shirt uniform. They go places where there's good food and often fresh fashion and new art to take in. Too bad they can't find their own style.

Viva la lake.

Holy Roller

Eff the bumper sticker. We're going large.

When I saw this truck, I thought the driver was one of those people who go to those storefront churches in the mission. They go on Sunday mornings, go home for lunch and then come back to keep it going until the evening.

Then there's after school church a few days a week. You go from five until the holiest roller starts to buckle - and that's usually between 9 and 10 o'clock at night. Jesus. Jesus Cristo.

Evangelicals. I have a few in classes. They're something else. They're judged, and they act like it.