How to Really F@#k with Yourself in Just 2 Steps

Step One:

1. See the Last King of Scotland.

Step Two:

2. Rush from there onto BART to cross the Bay to get to the Punchline to see Meem's baby sister, whom you've known since she was such a wee munchkin in lil' diapers, host a stand-up show.

3. Wish you had a brillo pad for your ears-brain as she talks extensively about the fishy smell of poon, oral sex, and so many other things you instantly block from entering even your short-term memory.

4. Move the brillo pad to your eyes as she gesticulates extensively as well.

5. Blink. A lot.

6. Laugh at the rest because she is really hella funny.

7. Through the brillo, hear Meem say, "The first time is really the most shocking."

8. Nod your head. Sigh. And get so excited for how fuckin fab aliwong has become!

Wanna see her yourself? Check her out:
http://www.aliwong.com/

Destani Wolfe? She Rocked.

So I took Meem to the Independent to bask in the CD drop of Destani Wolfe (formerly of O'Maya fame) and I must say, she is supahfly. Her album is mature and she's a great performer. I am sure it is somewhere on myspace. Feel free to go dig around there for it. Lord knows Rupert Murdoch will love ya for it.



But on top of her music being dope, the cd release was just hilarious. She brought along her capoeira folks, her family, the O'Maya crowd came out, her Berkeley High buddies - it was just super multigenerational, with presumably her abuelita leaning up against the stage tapping a hand on the set and beaming up at Destani, all manner of Berkeley parents grinning ear to ear, drunk drunk drunk and dancing their little hearts out, predictably embarassing their children, particularly Destani's sister, Kelly, whose debut it was as stage backup singer.... I probably could have guessed that even without a whole series of Berkeley parent-friends-of-family sloshing wine down my shirt as they one by one leaned in conspiratorily and then yelled in my ear, "Oh honey, that is Baby Kelly's first time!" before turning back and screaming "Keeeeeeeellllllllllyyyyyyyy! Keeelllllllllllyyyyy! Do you see me? Keeeeeelllllllllyyyyyy!" and waving at her.



And we knew the set was over when suddenly anyone over 40 had vanished from crowding the stage and moved to the back, wine glasses in hand, and then melted into the night before the next band came up. So go out and buy the girl's album. She deserves to blow up.

How to Take Teachers At Their Word, or How WALC Saved My Ass

Enabling quote of the day: "About your final projects: You don't need to explain them. They don't even need to make sense or mean anything."

This works out well for my final project. In fact, this comment is said specifically in reference TO my final project. I feel just so special.



Part A: Outwardly, I pontificate on my utterly obsessive love for the coolness that is Tannic Acid... and Redwood Trees in general ... while inwardly offering thanks to my equal obsession with using pastels as note-taking devices as well as Mr. G, Mr. B, and Ms. T for their love of all things Hendy Woods.

Having received essentially a visual biology-lesson-as-healing lecture, the circle of students stares at me. Even the teacher-child cocks his head like a confused dog. So sighing, onward I plod.



Part B: Reveal... a quilt. Tie it to the Gee Bend exhibit at the MOAD/De Young and a woman's voice saying, "After he died, [my mom] quilted his overalls all together, wanting him to keep her warm through the winter, covered in his love."



More tilting of heads. Time to bring out the big guns of Part C:
Read student writing and poems. It always makes 'em cry. And crying people? No longer critical thinkers. Good stuff. And doubly fortunate for me, since I couldn't create a connection if I tried, these 30 criers ultimately turn out to be great at forging healing art and healing connections between redwood trees and quilted sheets, and poetry honoring people, places, concepts and things.

And so they all nod at last. Sigh a collective sigh. And we are off to the next project. And I am free. Don't understand it? Me neither, but please re-read quote of the day.

How to Crush My Teacher

Unfortunately, it is not so hard.

(4) Teacher-as-Child: "I invite you to show me your journal."

Me: [Blink. Stare.]

Teacher-as-Child, one hour later (not wanting any actual paper to exchange hands): "I invite you to email me your final paper."

Me: [Politely and quietly decline both invitations, demonstrating that my ability to set limits and say no is well intact.... which any of you who have sent me Evites as of late already know and which remains a good and useful skill, as those of you who know the current state of my lovelife will agree.]

Teacher-as-Child: [Slight Wilt and a sigh.]

My Teacher, Open to Tremendous Growth and Change

Mounting evidence shows that my physically present teacher is a child revealed:

(1) Our teacher is excited before lunch. He has received a phone call from his electronic owl (think: Harry Potter, but whatever) confirming that all his hard work has paid off: University of Florida's Medical School is going to do a staff development in which the ENTIRE faculty (then the whole school, eventually) attends a "Rave for Death." I would get carpal tunnel even attempting to explain this here. [I just want to point out that that would SO never happen in San Francisco's med school, so all y'all sf-haters can drop it.]

(2a) Our teacher is crushed after lunch when we all come back in the room, for someone, someone, someone [no, not me, relaaaaaax] has RAISED THE VENETIAN BLINDS (gasp).

(2aa) He is at first disappointed and quite concerned that the pulled up window blinds will make it extraordinarily difficult for the Power Point/slide show final projects to manifest themselves with any clarity.

(2b) Our teacher is amazed to learn that the blinds slide down to cover the window.

(2c) Our teacher beams, clapping his hands and like a cheerleader he praises continually the co-op dwelling fellow (who is a child revealed himself) who pulls them down with great mastery so we can see someone's slide show. "Magnificent," he remarks, amazed shaking of head while grinning. "You are doing a truly magnificent job with that."


(2d) Our teacher beams like he dropped e for the remainder of the day.

(3) Our teacher, beaming. He is really quite cute, actually.

More skills to pack a CV with... my paper pushing future is now secure....

I know you are all excited that I have left behind the Literary Olympic sport of Crafting and Arranging the Perfect Paragraph [that's CRAPP, to you]. Today, my class moved on to a much more meaningful graduate school topic.... the Where's Waldo search for Cohesion Words. Yes, I spent three hours this evening using an array of Smelly Markers (you know the kind) to circle every Additionally, In contrast, However, Moreover, The above, Overall (and yes, the list, it just keeps chuggin). Not on one of my papers, mind you - which would be a fruitful Where's Waldo task of its own, since it turns out I no longer believe in finishing or turning in papers, woops - but rather on some random probably dead former graduate student's paper. Luckily, such a silent (apart from my compulsive muttering) and olfactory activity lent itself to ample reflection on my part about how continually surprising it is to re-realize that this is NOT actually an English class I am mistakenly attending. Now, normally even such omphaloskeptic tasks can be made better through the inclusion of Smelly Markers, but not today. Henceforth today will be known as The Limitations of Smelly Markers Becomes Apparent Day [I am not even bothering to come up with an acronym here, folks]. Play taps, people, it is the end of an era.

Spotlight on... "DJ Boy"

OK, I admit it. I have a secret love for the predictability that is the Single DJ Boy. This sub-genre of on-line daters is easily recognized by his profile, so you can hit it or quit it without even reading it. His ad has at least one picture of him on some mode of transportation with headphones draped like earmuffs or a scarf on and sporting a t-shirt sold by the Giant Peach in limited numbers (best referred to as the Hot-DJ-Shot), followed at least one action photo of him dj-ing (we'll call the Whaaaaaaat?-I'm-No-Music-Poseur [WINMP] Shot). He's knows he's hot, so he is a little surprised not everyone hits on him. Despite presumably being an auditory fellow, it doesn't occur to him that maybe those big old couch stuffinged headphones might be preventing him from hearing his adoring fans.

Ah, the DJ boy. Love him I do.

Momisms at the Movies

My mom, who is really never at a loss for words and rarely cares when people are mad at her, leaves the most fascinating messages on my machine. This installment definitely explains why she never got that film critic job (well..... besides the incidents in which she missed that the guy DIED in The English Patient or that she labeled My Life as a Dog as The Worst Film Ever Made because she did get that the dog died in it).

LAST WEEK

Answering Machine: Beeeeeeeep.

Mom: Your dad is mad at me. [My mom is really not into Hellos or anything]

I took him to see a movie about sailing [my dad LIVES to be anywhere near a boat]. I couldn't remember the name of it. But I told him it was about sailing. So we went to see it and now he is mad at me. I don't know what his problem is.

Machine: Beeeeeeeeeep.

Me: Huh?

[Movie? Dead Calm]

THIS WEEK

Answering Machine: Beeeeeeeep.

Mom: Your dad is mad at me. [See above about mom and greetings]

I wanted to make up for the last movie, which he says was not really about sailing. So I took him to see a movie about canoing [my dad would be buried in a canoe if it were legal]. I couldn't remember the name of it. But I told him it was about canoing. And we went to see it and now he is mad at me. I don't know what his problem is.

Machine: Beeeeeeeeeep.

[Movie? Deliverance]

Sometimes Other People Offer You Spirit Animal Guides

Meem, bless her dear sweet deliciousness, has taken to dreaming for me, since she somehow psychically knows I no longer get enough sleep to go into REM....:


Meem's Dream

"You were taking surfing lessons."
[Editor's note.... first indication that this is, indeed, a dream]
"You were on the beach with an instructor, then it was time to go in the ocean.

"I [that's Meem y'all, keep up] was up on some cliff watching you bob up and down in the water when a huge grey whale popped out in front of you.

"You screamed. Ducked underwater.

"But turns out it didn't eat you. In fact, it didn't want to hurt you at all, it was just playing.

"It was a bit short for a grey whale, might have been a baby.

"Then my little brain coasted off into thinking about what it would be like to be swallowed by a baleen whale...."

Thanks, Meem, for dreaming for me. I appreciate it, AND I am glad you are back in the Sucka Free with me. Missed you somethin' fierce.

Alert: Washed-Up 60s Icon Still Livin in the Past

Sadder still is when that 60s icon stumbles into class (wearing the G-rated version) and her students:1. Think she is a substitute (which has gotta worry ya about the subs in this district)
and
2. Find out what she is supposed to be and shake their heads, saying in their wise old man worldly ways: "Giiiiirl, I know a mess of folks like that...."
and 3. Tell her: "Dude, you look so much younger like that. You really should always dress that way. Duuuuuuude, seriously. And seriously, you should always do your hair like that." Um, cheers. And, um, WTF?!!