Old Fogey

I'm not sure why people think John McCain could win the Presidency in 2008. The man is 69 right now, 72 in 2008 (3 years older than Reagan in 1980), but that's not all. He looks like hell. He did tonight, at least. He could pass for 80 right now. And this is coming from someone who's basically a McCain fan, someone who thinks that if the country had elected him in 2000, the political landscape would be a much less vitriolic place right now.

He's a tough guy, but his time has passed.

Update: The man doing the Democratic rebuttal is a freak. What's up with that eyebrow?

Sick

I'm sick. There's no getting around it. Home early in each of the last two days, lots of sleep, but I just can't kick it. I think I'm going to the gym in the morning to try to sweat it out or something.

Today, I stuttered in class over and over again, and explained to the kids, "Uh, sorry folks. I took Ny-Quill last night and think it's still in me." Later, I regretted saying that, thinking one of them might go home and tell them their teacher was drunk today.

Ugh. I hate being sick.

The danger of an unattended computer

I left a handout of five To Kill a Mockingbird questions unattended on my computer without closing out today. My colleagues decided to add #6-9.


6. What do you think Harper Lee is wearing right now? Be specific.

7. Do you think Harper Lee would date a younger man? Explain.

8. Who would you rather do: Miss Maudie or Miss Stephanie?

9. What is your Myspace name? Can I be your buddy?


Ha ha. I snorted when I read it.

(As you can see, a blanket of seriousness covered the building once news of Nancy Grasmick's arrival spread. Heh.)

#6-#8 come from my well-documented obsession with To Kill a Mockingbird and Harper Lee.

#9 comes from the fact that I'm now occasionally using Myspace to communicate with students if the kids e-mail me a question about homework or anything else. I decided it wasn't any different than e-mail as long as I don't have anything too personal on the page.

They were getting me back for writing similar additions on a colleague's laptops for her transcendentalism project options.

Plastic Grasmick

Nancy Plastic, the state superintendent of schools, came to our school today. No one told us why, and it doesn't matter a whole lot to me. I'm not a big fan of hers, nor our distracted, ineffectual governor, mainly because of how they handled the Baltimore City Public Schools' financial crisis of two years ago. Their flippant attitude during that time and, later, their steadfast refusal to follow the Judge Kaplan's 8/20/04 orders to give city schools adequate funding haven't made her (or Mr. Ehrlich) many fans with folks working in schools.

With the students, either. Many of the more politically active students wore an "X" on their shirts made from duct tape. The duct tape "X" has been adopted in the last two years as a symbol of protest against indequate funding for the schools. One kids, in case it wasn't obvious, wrote, "Nancy Grasmick, you are not welcome here" on a placard around the X on his chest. I love non-violent protest.

So she came, apparently, and it was a big dog and pony show. I saw my principal. (That, in and of itself, is out of the ordinary.) Folks roamed our halls with clipboards. I never saw her, and later some rumors sprouted that it was actually just the lieutenant superintendent of schools who visited. I was a bit nervous for a while, especially since I'm doing this very involved dramatization of a scene from last week, and was worried that these folks might come in and see the kids running around getting their scenes together and think that they were just playing around. But they didn't. I was able to explain in the hallway what we were doing, they stayed for about thirty seconds, and that was it.

So she (or someone from her office) came and now has seen some conditions in the building. She has now seen that there is no soap in the restrooms, and that kids must bring pocket-sized Purell if they don't want to spread germs after they pee. She has now seen that there is no drinkable water available. She has now seen the lack of computers. And so in my perfect world, I'll go in tomorrow and those things will all be corrected.

I can dream, can't I?

I left early because I think I'm getting a cold. I'm run down and exhausted. I'm congested, and my eyelids feel hot and heavy. I'm off to take a nap and hopefully I can kick this in the bud before it becomes a cold.

Waiting tables and writing recommendations

It was one of the busiest weekends in recent memory at the restaurant. Busiest, though not most lucrative, as most of the guests weren't big spenders like the previous weekend. But I did alright, making about $100 each shift. My favorite table was a group of four guys in their late twenties who came in and had three alcoholic drinks each, racking up a $120 bill for brunch in the span of forty-five minutes. I would turn around and their drinks would be empty. They left me a good tip of almost $30. I actually have next Sunday off - the first Sunday brunch shift I've had off in the last few months - and I might try to emulate those very guys. My least favorite table was a table to decided to leave me $7 on a $50.85 bill. 15% is bad enough, but going beneath that - especially when I get you a free meal because you didn't like your Smoked Bay Scallops omelet (which, by the way, is unbelievably good; I can't believe someone wouldn't like it) - is just unacceptable. If they ever come back, they can expect intentionally bad service from me as I now know that they're cheap jerks even when they get good service.

I guess it's worth it, even though I spent ten hours without sitting down or eating and now am so sore and tired that I feel like I won't be able to accomplish much of anything tonight. Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of sitting around and watching TV or one of my current Netflix (The Constant Gardener and June Bug). I need to write "Bobby" a rather involved recommendation for this program at University of Maryland that he's applying to. It's some sort of program for kids whose grades aren't that great but they're okay and are considered "at risk" college students. They're on the bubble so the university takes them to college a couple weeks earlier and acclimates them to college life before classes actually start. It definitely sounds like a great program and I hope he gets in.

I just got back from "Bobby's" house. He asked me to look over his application for that program, and that's what I did during the down moments while waiting tables. I just dropped it off; he's got to have it postmarked by tomorrow. Going to his house made me think about growing up in that kind of neighborhood. I just can't imagine it. In the five minutes I was on his porch, I smelled weed in the air, heard music so loud I felt it in my ribcage, and saw my car almost get hit by a pickup truck speeeding down the street. I wonder if it's every quiet.

The letter I read of his was all about how all he's ever wanted is a normal family, and about how that's his main goal in his life. That's after he starts his own carpentry business and get a doctorate in Psychiatry. The kid's ambitious. I hope things work out for him, because he deserves it. He's lived a hell of a life.

Update: Well, I finally finished that recommendation. It was in six part - SIX - and each part asked for a several hundred word essay. Later, I looked at what it was for. A FULL-YEAR scholarship to the University of Maryland, which one student in Baltimore City Public Schools gets. Just one. Oh well. I have my fingers crossed. I just spent several hours on the scholarship so I hope it's not all for naught.

The story of "William"

My school is approximately 92% black, 8% white, and less than 1% "other," which translates into about 1380 black kids, 100 white kids, and 20 "other." And an analysis of these numbers shows some other things to be true - that about 20% of our entering 9th grade classes went to private schools up until the 9th grade, and they're going to public school for perhaps the first time. The majority of these private school kids are white kids whose parents finally trust a public school for their kid's education.

We have two tracts for our students - Honors, and College prepatory. Because almost all our kids will go to college, both are fairly rigorous; we do not have tracts for, say, athletes who came to the school for sports and can't handle the lower level classes. We got a couple basketball player boys (twins, I teach both of them) from Towson Catholic this year that are struggling a little bit because we don't have the "easy" track that they were used to there.

I've taught both Honors and College Prep while at the school. My Honors classes end up being about a quarter white, while my CP classes end up being almost 100% black. This year, out of 120 CP students, I have two white kids. The Honors classes probably yield 10 or 15 white kids out of 50.

Having the kids - both white and black, but the majority white - from private schools there is a good thing for the school. Because these parents are affluent, they bring with them influence and action. There are still a lot of crummy things about the building (there is rarely soap in the bathroom, finding drinking water is a difficulty, we don't have enough textbooks, black mold creeps up the walls), but it's also pretty cool that we have kids and parents come in and participate in after-school steering committees, lobby folks in central administration, and bring concerns to politicians. We have the nephew of a Congressman, the daughter of a prominent Baltimore lawyer, the son of a screenwriter - these kids all were born with a bit of a silver spoon in their mouths, but they and their family have chosen to send them to a public school and the school is often stronger for it. And the parent gets a great education for their kid. There aren't many public schools in the state where a kid get an IB diploma, for example. We have an English curriculum that is both modernistic and classic, with some truly innovative ideas occuring (like the unique College Writing course, or the AP Language and Composition pairing with English IB 3). Lastly, I'd say that at no other school in the state will kids get as dedicated teachers. We really are a pretty good school.

Still, the (vast) majority of our students are in poverty and aren't coming to the school "instead of the private schools" as much as "instead of our zoned school," so I don't feel like I'm teaching kids who don't really need me. I don't think I could ever teach at a private school or a hoity-toity suburban school, because I really believe my purpose on this planet is to help make this country more equal and help give kids a great education who wouldn't otherwise have access to it. This school is often perfect for me, because it does have very high expectations, yet the student body is mostly in need financially and many will be first generation college students.

That being said, almost all of these kids that come from private schools end up in the higher track. If you look at the sixty or so kids that are in our higher track for 11th grade (the year when the curriculums most diverge) this coming year - admissions were just announced - about half of them were white kids. The majority of the rest were black females. There were two or three black males. Out of sixty.

This got my blood boiling a bit, because there's this sort of unspoken thing that occurs in our school. These white private school kids come in, which is a great thing for the school, and then they go to the higher track. And I certainly don't begrudge them for this; this is exactly what I would want my own child to be doing if he or she were a child in the school. However, for a school that serves the kids of Baltimore City, of which the vast majority are black, a percentage that is exceeded at the school the school, it just seems like we should have more black kids in that upper track. It turns our school's two tracks into a miniature segregation system, and this sucks.

And that brings me to William. Earlier this week, I scanned the IB program list for Wiliam's name, and it wasn't there. Out of the 120 ninth graders I taught last year in Honors, William would esily be top five. A lucid writer, a pragmatic thinker, a hard worker - he was, in short, the perfect student. He ended up getting 95's in my challenging Honors course. This year, apparently, his English grades have dropped into the eighties, but he also has the teacher who has given just two 9th graders A's this year out of sixty, so I can't fault him too much for that. Not seeing William's name there stung a bit. You see, I have his little brother this year. Like William, he is a great kid - intelligent, hard-working, great writer. I feared that the little brother might learn from his brother and not go for the Honors courses.

I ranted about it to whoever would hear me in the next two days. Finally, I saw William in the hallway yesterday. He shied away from me, knowing what I was about to say to him. He couldn't look me in the eye. After some pressing, he told me he didn't think he could "cut it" in the Honors tract. I told him, "Bullshit. You're a great writer and can read anything I throw at you." (And I'm not just blowing smoke here; I found out later he got a 62 on his PSAT verbal, putting him in the 97th percentile in the nation.)

Then I brought out race, even though I wasn't sure if I should. "Do you know how many black males are in the IB Program?," I asked him. He looked at the ground and said no. "Two. William, this program isn't meant just for the white kids. I hate to bring it out that way, but it's true. You can do this program." He didn't say anything. I let him slink away to class.

I called his dad shortly thereafter, to make sure he knew that William had decided to drop out of the program. He said he thought Williams was going through a rebellious stage. I thanked him, then after school went down to our Advanced Studies coordinator, telling her if this kid William comes to see her, that she should give him a chance to turn in his application late because he's a special kid. "Oh, William?" she said. "He just left. He's writing his essay this weekend and is going to get it to me on Monday. He told me he just got a 62 on his PSAT verbal. Why wasn't he here in the first place?"

I caught William on his way out of school. "William," I said. "I could hug you right now. Don't worry, though, I won't." And he looked away, laughed, and left out the door.

Geek night

Tomorrow night, a bunch of us English teachers are getting together to play the Book Lover's Edition of Trivial Pursuit. It'll be geek night in Charles Village.

My parting words to my colleagues tonight were, "Make sure you go home tonight and read every book that has ever been written, mmmmkay?"

I was pretty happy that the game was 20% off from the $39.99 price at Barnes and Noble. My $25 gift certificate almost covered it all. I was pretty happy until I checked out the amazon.com price. There, it's $9.99.

Five more episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm tonight. I'm a madman. I'm a little tired of the theme song now, though. I've been laughing a lot, though. That episode with the doll and the little girl... wow.

PA announcement

Our principal doesn't like to have announcements durings class. This is a good thing. I've had past principals that would call over the PA to find a janitor in the middle of class. This sort of thing can derail a lesson for a couple minutes. So today in the middle of class I was surprised when I heard the Assistant Principal come on and call an emergency meeting of all department heads.

Whenever there is anything like that announced over the PA, I imagine the meeting is about to go something like this: "Okay, folks, we have a problem. There is a teacher at this school who is 'blogging.' We don't know who it is yet, but we know he went out for beers last night and he like baseball. Hey, what's the name of the baseball coach again?"

And then they rush to my classroom and whisk me away, and the next day there's an article about my firing in the Baltimore Sun with out-of-context quotations from posts over the last six years.

That's my fear. I fear this despite the fact that the blog, and blogspot, is blocked from all school system computers, and despite the fact that I don't really think I ever blog about anything that bad. But you never know.

It turns out it was about a screwup on our grade reports. Typical.

Trivia night at Rocky Run

My oldest friend in Baltimore called me this afternoon. Her 85-year old aunt died earlier today, and she was really hoping I wouldn't cancel our planned trip out to Rocky Run. After all, we haven't seen each other in the new year yet.

So we head out there, and prime ourselves up for four games of trivia. We're closely matched, so we end up 2-2. We drink four 32-oz glasses of beer each. We talk and laugh a lot. It was a suberb evening. I've set our next one for two weeks from tonight.

I really love Rocky Run. I know it sort of can remind people of, say, T.G.I.Friday's or something, but it's so friendly and laid back, with good beers on tap and free peanuts that you can throw on the floor when you're through with them. Plus, the trivia. I love it. It's so much better tha Charles Village Pub next door, which is dingy and has no good beers on tap.

All in all, what a great day. Suberb day at school, great workout with the team and then out at Bally's (the first thing I did when I heard that Chris Penn died is say to myself, "Shit, that's that fat guy from Reservoir Dogs. I bet it was a heart attack. I've got to get to the gym"), a good night out with a friend afterwards, and enough beer to make me a little warm and goofy. I could live a day like this everyday. Maybe add sex to it, though.

I love my job

So first I put them in two groups, assigning them each a chapter from To Kill a Mockingbird to dramatize. There's a lot more to it than just that - I've got eight roles (casting manager, director, props manager, set designer, etc) plus the actors - but I basically just tell them that it needs to be ready in sixty minutes and no one is allowed to be off-task for any reason for the entire time that they get to plan it. Performances are next class. Our objective is to illuminate the minor characters in the novel, and to be able to articulate why Harper Lee puts them in the novel.

Then, I separate the groups into two different classrooms on my hall.

Then, I pit them against each other.

I run between them, saying things like, "Uh-oh, the other group is way father than you all are." And they hurriedly scamper about, trying to get ready quicker.

Then, I tell one props manager, "Oh, did you know that the other group is bringing in homemade cookies as one of their props?" This is a lie. He says, "Shoot, I'm going to bake a cake."

Then I go tell the other group that the other group is baking a cake for a prop, that they'd better do something to match it. One go-getter girl says, "I'll make cookies. From scratch." How cool is that?

When I told a colleague about my manipulation to get some goodies into class, she said, "You know, you come across as this sweet guy, but there's this sinister layer underneath it all." Indeed.

It's awesome. I'll be having cake and cookies on Friday and be able to see a bunch of bright kids perform chapters from To Kill a Mockingbird - chapters in which the star characters are that horrible hypocrite Miss Merriweather and the lipsing Gertrude Farrow and the pretend-drunk Dolphus Raymond rather than Jem and Scout. And it's going to be so much fun. Today, in fact, was so much fun that I almost can't wait to go in tomorrow.

So it had nothing to do with the thong?

I, the man who doesn't watch TV, just watched five consecutive episodes of season 2 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I was just too beat to do anything else. There is no wind in my sails tonight. I didn't even make it to the gym.

I did, however, laugh a lot. I can't believe how funny this guy is. I thought for a while that season 2 wasn't as good as season 1, but then Wanda Sykes came over and Larry David, his wife, and she got into the ass discussion, and it was all hilarity from there.

It's only Tuesday

"You must be real tired today, because your eyes are really red."

Thanks, kid.

He's right, though I can't really figure out why. Went to bed by 10:30, skipped the morning gym trip, got up at 7 instead. Just feel like I'm dragging along. I need to head to the gym and get myself some energy.

The lowlight of my day occurred when I ran a few doors down to my office to get some handouts. My supervisor walked in to the teacher-less classroom looking for the substitute, thinking that the class was the host teacher's class and that there was not a sub there. The kids were rude to her, and one kid apparently told her, "Get the fuck out" as she walked out. By the time I returned to my room 45 seconds after I had left it, she had the kid in the hallway and she was giving him hell about it. What kills me is that this is one of my favorite students, a really bright kid who got a 93 in Honors English, has never missed a homework assignment, and has a quiet, smart sense of humor. I guess today he wanted to be a punk. I laid into him pretty good once the boss left. He didn't look at me the rest of class.

Then I graded yesterday's brief constructed repsonses from my first period class, and they were solid. Then I looked at second period's class. Out of nine students who bothered to do the homework, only one had an acceptable thesis statement. I put a huge X over the rest of them and am making them all re-write. I'm formulating a speech in my head right now about doing things right if you're going to do them, although it certainly will not sound that nice, and will probably consist of a couple of well-placed curse words. I've already typed their thesis statements on a separate piece of paper in a long list to show them just how crummy they are. I think I'm going to lead off with that, and then take out their papers, and says, "I'm sorry, guys, but these are absolute shit. What were you even thinking turning in this garbage?" Yesh, that's poetic.

This class needs a wake-up shake-up. My weakest class, with a class average of 68 on my midterm, and full of chatty boys. I tend to get along a bit better with male students, but these kids need a little kick in the ass. The new semester has started and they've apparently forgotten my expectations.

Pre-season baseball training starts

Today, I asked the Athletic Director what hurdles I would have to start up a JV team, even if they didn't play any games - just practiced every day, maybe getting in a couple of scrimmages with rich private schools who could come to the school and not have to bill us with the transportation. He told me that he doesn't think liability will cover it. I tell him we've got 60 young men who want to try out for baseball, that there is a JV football team and a JV basketball team, and that it's just not right not to have a JV baseball team. He sort of snorts and blames things on the city and talks about money and says he'll check on it. That's the most positive comment I've heard from him in years, but I'm still not optimistic.

I'm already getting stressed out about how I'm going to make decisions in the next month about tryouts and this team. One friend today was telling me I should cut the crummy seniors, that there are two of them and they should learn now that they're just not good at certain things. But this is their last chance to play baseball in their lives, how can I can these two kids? But it's not just that. It's the slew of kids I'll have in front of me, from the 9th grader in my 5/6 class who calls me "Coach" now in a presumed attempt to suck up so he'll be on the team, to the senior who I've taught twice and has never tried out but wants to play because he's always wanted to play a sport for me and has quit his job to do so. It's ridiculous that I'm putting this much pressure on myself with still five weeks before tryouts begin, but things are going to get tough and I just wish the school had the money for a JV program.

I also think we have a decent shot at the City Championship this year. We were 11-5 last year, and our core is intact - including my 6'4, 240lb shortstop who hit .600 last year and is the most humble kid you'll ever meet even though he's been featured in the Sun and has a full ride to play football for a devilish school in the south. I'm pretty excited about what this means.

Today was our first unofficial baseball workout in the weight room. It was great handing out my baseball conditioning handouts and lifting weights and stretching with the kids in preparation for tryouts. The kids are excited. I am too. I just wish there were less of them.

That's very Brokeback of you

Finally saw Brokeback Mountain today; I was officially the last in my department to see it. I was reminded of my tardiness when my sixtysomething colleague came over to me this morning with his Jack Nicholson voice and no-nonsense bark and asked me if I'd seen it yet. "It's a good movie, not great. But good. Yup. Don't know how I feel about those sex scenes, though," he said, before crushing his unfiltered Camel on the ground in the teacher parking lot. (Actually, he quit just a couple months ago, but I still sort of see him with the unfiltered Camel in my mind.)

And, he's right, I wasn't so comfortable with the sex scene either, at least the first one. But I wouldn't hedge my praise like he did - this is a great film, not just a good one. I'm still a little shellshocked by it. It was very sad, one of the saddest movies I've ever seen. Like Capote, the other movie of comparably excellent quality I've seen this year, I would have changed one flaw at the end. And there were some slow moments, and it was hard not to turn away during the first (disturbing) sex scene. However, the acting - from Heath Ledger's turn in the lead to parts as small as Jake Gyllenhall's mother - was terrific. It's cool that such an overhyped film could live up to its praises simply by being understated. It would have been easy to throw an overwrought Phillip Glass score or some Johnny Cash love songs on here to get the audience to feel for these characters, but Ang Lee doesn't need to. He just lets his story happen and his characters be done in by time and circumstance. The cinemotagraphy is amazing, as well.

It's sort of cliche to say that this really isn't a gay movie, that its characters and situations are universal. But it's true.

My last observation is that it reminded me quite a bit of Ang Lee's other great film, The Ice Storm, where characters similarly suffer lives of quiet desperation. This one's better, though.

I can't wait to see Walk the Line and Munich now, so I can give you all my opinion of the best movie of the year. Since I know you all care.

By the way, the phrase "Uh, that's sort of Brokeback of you" has invaded the lingo of the kids at school.

FitDay.com

As I seek new ways to motivate myself to get leaner and more healthy, I've been using the website FitDay. It's pretty cool. You enter in your activities and foods for the day, and it spits charts and percentages back at you. For example, yesterday I consumed 2409 calories. That sounds pretty good for someone quite a few pounds north of 200 lbs, but then I look closer at my numbers - 41% of my calories came in the form of carbs (who knew yogurt was so carbtacular?), with a respectable 25% coming from protein and 23% coming from fat. I'm pretty anti-low carb diet, but I also strive to be a bit more balanced than I was yesterday. However, my 40 minutes on the eliptical and 30 minutes weighttraining burned over 1000 calories, so that, combined with the amount of calories my moderately active job and lifestyle burns throughout the day, I burned about 1500 more calories than I ate yesterday.

The website appeals to the obsessive dorkiness that propels most of my successful endeavors.

It's not a perfect site. I wish their Activities section was more detailed. The machines at the gym take into account my heartrate and tell me my calories burned, and they always end up much more than the estimates that the website (which doesn't ask for heartrate) comes up with. But it's pretty cool site, making me think of fitness more as a science than anything else. I've stuck with it for weeks at a time back when I lived fitness day in and day out. I wouldn't write down what I ate all day, but I'd sit down at the end of the day and run through my list, often running into the kitchen to enter information from labels. Today, for example, I saved the wrapper and label from my meal replacement post-workout breakfast bar, and just entered it in.

I hope I can keep this up for a while. I'm feeling pretty good right now and want to keep it up.

Best Actor

Terrance Howard... wow. I know everyone is assuming it will be Philip Seymour Hoffman to win the Oscar for Best Actor, and Heath Ledger with an outside shot, but I finally just watched Hustle and Flow, and he's really, really good. I had a hard time believing him to be the same guy from Crash. I hope he's at least nominated. I figure Joaquin Pheonix is also a lock to get a nomination. I've got to see that movie, too. Probably Ralph Fiennes as well, and I have The Constant Gardener at the top of my queque so that should be coming soon. Jeff Daniels also gave the best performance I've seen him give in The Squid and the Whale. That's a very strong category this year.

As for the movie Hustle and Flow, it's a little silly at times, but the acting is so good that it's forgiveable.

Dilemmas

Just as the din of "Quit your second job, you overworking fool!" was threatening to overpower me a week ago, the owner gave me a week off this week (without me asking), so my only shifts this week week were Saturday night and Sunday morning. Last night, I made $130 and had some really nice tables that were great to talk with. Today, I have the last-on, first-off shift, upstairs, so I'll probably just work four or five hours and be done with it. Seems silly to give up a couple hundred easy dollars a week when the car isn't paid off yet.

We shall see. I'm one fo the most indecisive people in the world.

Lopsided trade

Don't look now, but it looks like the Orioles actually made a lopsided trade... in their favor!

I've liked Kris Benson for years. I won't remind anyone that he had his lowest strikeout rate of his career last year, which is often a sign that ineffectiveness will reign. But I'm hopeful. A rotation of Benson, Lopez, Bedard, Cabrera, and Chen isn't too bad. They still need a #1, but I'd take almost any of them as my #2.

Unfortunately, it looks pretty clear that Toronto has passed Baltimore by with their aggressive off-season. But I like this move. We shall see.

The One That Got Away

Last night was a friend's 29th birthday, and a bunch of us got together at Thirsty Dog to celebrate. It was a great time, full of my two favorite Baltimore treats - Blueberry Beer and Hearts Afire Palm Salad - and good friends. We sat at the Dog from around 6:30 until 10, when we went to another bar on the Cross street corridor. I think every other bar on the Cross street corridor is pretty horrible at 10 or 11 on a Friday night, so the night ended quickly after we made our way to the Federal Hill Lounge (which was even red on the inside, as if to exacerbate the feeling that I was in hell). We left before 11, as soon as I felt sober enough to drive, and made our way home.

My memories of last night are mostly good, but I'm still feeling a touch of melancholy today. The girl who for years I have given the pseudonym Renee came out with us. For me, she is the one who got away. And last night, I realized just how far she's gotten away. She broke the news last night that she's moving to the Twin Cities in Minnesota with her boyfriend, with whom she's been together for just over a year. And who is a massive tool.

I came across an e-mail she wrote me in the spring of 2002. At the time, it was shortly after I moved to Baltimore, and I was craving friends, and saw the e-mail simply as friendly. Now, what I read into it is a definite flirtation. In fact, much of my early times with her were misconstrued by me. Then, on June 20, 2002, she hooked up with a friend of mine after the three of us were out together. I know this date because I just read the old entry about it. And it pissed me off, and I used it as a constant excuse in my mind of why we never ended up together. However, the excuse was just that - an excuse. One drunken hookup with a friend who is now married to someone else should not be a dealbreaker. I made it so, in my head.

I also had my mind and heart wrapped around this other girl at this point, the one in Michigan who was going to move down here with me. The one who then decided to begin seeing someone else without telling me. She's now married too, by the way, to that very guy. So I guess things worked out for her.

Back to Renee - we have a great deal in common, and she seems to get more attractive every year. When I first met her, the word I would use to describe her is mousy. Not anymore. She's gained confidence in the last four or five years. She wears sexy, classy clothes. She smiles more. She looks really good. And she's easy to talk with. She loves baseball and the Tigers. She loves independent music and movies. She's smart. I mean, I'm not sure what I was waiting for. I'm ready now, but she's gone.

She's not a new "one who got away." At work, my colleagues have joked for a while with me that she's the one I should be with, and we've been waiting for her and this guy to be through. But, alas, it doesn't look like it's going to happen. And I'm kicking myself a little harder than usual right now.

I've long thought that people have a tremendous amount of others that they could be compatible with, and it's all about timing. Making sure you're in the right place in your life when you meet one of those right people is the challenge. I've felt for a while that this is more of a challenge to me than other people. Others seem to be able to drop one person and move onto another, as if their life depended on being in a couple. Take my college roommate, Jake, for example. I've never known him to be single. He was single for most of his freshmen year of college, but in the ten years since then, he's been with two different women, with hardly a break in between. Not me. I'm unable to play a lot of the games required for coupledom. Therefore, it's important that I don't let what I could have had with Renee - a natural extension to relationship from a healthy friendship - pass me by. I've got to do better with making those windows of opportunities a little wider for myself.

Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.

Random Veterinarian visit facts:

1. Tobey has gained four pounds since Fool saved his life by rushing him to the vet for an emergency urinary tract unblockage in March. Since he only weighs 14 pounds, this is a big deal.

2. Holden weighed 77 pounds back in May of 2003. He now weighs 78 pounds. He might be chunky, but at least he's a steady chunky.

3. The horrible whine coming from Holden's mouth as three vet technicians held him down for his shots and toe clipping was amongst the worst sounds I've ever heard. It compared with the internal whine in my own head when the final bill of $320 was presented to me.

4. Even though I already spent $320 there, the vet wants me to come back for dual teeth cleanings by the end of February. Or, by the end of the 20% off special. I don't think I can afford it, though.

5. Tobey is really sulking right now after all those shots. Holden even seems a little upset. I need to go have a drink. What a way to spend a Friday afternoon, after a week filled with conflicts with parents. Well, two of them. That's still a lot.

Grizzly Man

I spent the evening watching Grizzly Man. What a strange, entrancing film. Jeff Treadwell, it's "star," reminded me a lot of John LaRouche from Susan Orleans's The Orchid Thief. I both envy and pity that sort of passion, or obsession, depending on how you want to define it.

Because it's not at all cliche to say so or anything, I really love Netflix.

Baseball season starts. Sort of.

Today, 54 kids came interested in trying out for baseball.

I have 22 uniforms.

Help. Give me a JV team, stat!

Here's my questiionnaire:

Baseball Experience

1. Did you play baseball this summer? Which league? Which position?

2. List other leagues and positions you have played in the last three years.

3. Describe your performance in baseball last year.

4. What role would you like to play this year?

5. What position(s) would you like to be considered for this year?

6. Are you willing to be part of the team even if you don’t get a lot of playing time? Explain.

Players who did not play last year
Is there anything else you want the coach to know that may help you make the team?

Players who did play last year
Which current Juniors or Seniors displayed the most commitment and leadership on the team last year, during both games and practices? In other words, which of your teammate(s) would make excellent team captaini(s)?
Baseball Experience

I'm John Ritter in an episode of Macgyver

Tonight, I returned home from a twelve-hour day at school to find myself locked out of the bottom floor of my apartment. There were workers at the house all day upgrading the electricity system, and, when they left, they shut the wrong door, jostling the deadbolt lock. This has happened before in the five years I've lived in the house, but in the past I was always able to climb in through one of the rickety windows. I couldn't this time, as the windows are brand spanking new.

I called the landlord, and she didn't pick up. After trying everything I could think of, I sulked. I couldn't get to my kitchen or my bathroom, and really wanted both dinner and a shower after my long day.

This is what's great about living with two lesbians, though. Now, I'm not really living with them, as they're rarely here and aren't paying rent, but their dog and cats are here and they shower here. So they come home from their almost-totally-inhabitable house, where they've been scraping paint all afternoon. They tell me that Macgyver was written by lesbians, and go to town on my door. Using a butter knife, a couple coat hangers, and a potato peeler, the three of us took off the ancient door, which was bonded to the hinge by layers and layers of lead paint. I say the three of us, but one of my main jobs was holding the flash light.

Lately, my home life has been seeming like a sitcom. I'm the John Ritter of the Three's Company of our house.

***

Tomorrow is the first day of the second semester, which is one reason I was at school pretty late tonight. I'm going to have an awesome semester.

Tomorrow is also my pre-season baseball meeting. I'm pumped about that, as well.

Did anyone else catch that Love Monkey show last night? This might be the show that returns me to TV. It could be because I caught the premiere, which is rare for me. But I liked it, a lot.

I'm watching a lot more TV now that it's next to my computer. I watched almost two hours last night and, tonight, an hour.

Anyone know where a convenient, cheap place can get CPR certified in Baltimore?

Ten Points

1. Syriana is really, really good.

2. This is probably something I shouldn't share, but I've spent a considerable amount of time this week on this website. It's all about celebrities and how they died. It's pretty fascinating.

3. For some reason, I had this dream last night that I died. Hmmm, I wonder why. See #2.

4. This is the second year in a row in which I've watched the premiere of American Idol. I've never watched another episode of it. It holds my attention for a few minutes, and I might laugh at someone really bad, then I get a little sickened by it. Still, it's going to be the buzz in the school tomorrow. I hate reality TV.

5. I've missed 24, again. I figure if I miss the opening episode, I'm lost for the season. I'll have to rent the DVDs of this season eventually. What a great show, but one I can't really commit to right now.

6. I'm wallowing in self-pity a little right now.

7. I was just invited to an Oscars party. I think the big ones I still need to see are Cinderella Man, Hustle and Flow, Brokeback Mountain, Munich, Walk the Line, Match Point, The Constant Gardener, Grizzly Man, A History of Violence, and Good Night, and Good Luck. That's a ton, I guess, but I have seen a lot of the contendors - Capote, Crash, The 40 Year-Old Virgin, The Squid and the Whale, Syriana and King Kong. Actually, that's not that many. I have my work cut out for me.

8. I called in to the radio yesterday, during a segment about Houston schools offering teachers bonuses for getting high test scores from their students. As a teacher who works two jobs to make ends meet, I'd certainly appreciate more money. However, this is a terrible way to do it. And I wish it was a way to do it, because there are certainly times when I wish crummy colleagues could be booted out, or, me, as a good teacher, could be rewarded for it. However, this is not the answer, at all. I wss very nervous when I called, and I stuttered.

9. I still don't have heat downstairs. My heating bills are going to be awesomely miniscule this winter. The new landlord has to replace the entire furnace, a job that will cost her up to $10,000. That would have sucked.

10. Apparently a classroom on the third floor will be mine soon. As soon as it's not condemned from the black mold that is there. They're working on it.

Date #2

Earlier this week, at my second job, I took my watch off and massaged my wrist. "Ahhh," I said. "This is the first time I've taken off my watch in weeks." My friend Zack looked at me, and said, "What? Not even when you shower?" I said no, that it's waterproof. He looked at me like I was crazy. I then noticed this strange little lesion on my wrist under where the watch was. I laughed, and said, "Oops. Yup. Good point."

Zack then looked at me with a laugh and a grin, and he said, "You better hope things with this kindergarten teacher work out. You need someone to take care of you. She's a kindergarten teacher, so she'd explain things to you nice and slow so you'd understand that you shouldn't shower with your watch on." If that wasn't enough, he said, "You need your June Carter Cash." Zack was laughing through much of our conversation, but this was as serious as our conversations - which usually consist of good natured jibes and oogling customers or girls who walk past the restaurant - get.

And he's right, of course. Which is why tonight's date was such a disappointment. It was alright, but significantly less exciting than the first one. She seemed less excited and forthright, and I definitely thought at one point, "You know, if we didn't have our dogs with us, I don't know what we'd be talking about right now." There was almost a moment during the dinner - like, as soon as the plates were taken away - when I realized that I was all out of topics. I'm not sure if the second date is the date to start asking questions about family or not, so we stuck with dog care.

I'm affected by this way more than I would have thought, and I'm not sure why. First off, I'm not sure what I want to do. It probably didn't go as badly as I thought, but the awkward ending and lack of perceived chemistry is shining like neon in my mind. She's so beautiful, and nice, but there's this sense I had tonight that she just didn't want to be there. In fact, I just don't get why she came on out. She was working on a paper, and seemed tired when I called to confirm, and I gave her an out - "We can reschedule for later this week if you want, no problem" - but she said she wanted to. I wonder if she did it to get it over with, or if she really wanted to come. I just have no idea. I wish I could read minds.

Either way, things didn't feel nearly as good as they did after date #1. I'm not sure what I want to do now. It's either give her a ring later in the week, and see how things feel, or just sort of let it die and get back on the horse again. I think I'll be better next time. Lord knows I need practice. I haven't really dated much since the eye surgeries and getting the second job - and that was a couple of years ago. So I suck at this.

When I left the house for the date today, I was thinking that I'd spend some time tonight online shopping for flowers to send to her job tomorrow. Instead, I'm damn depressed about it all. Hmmm. Maybe my expectations are too high.

Four meme

I've never been tagged before for anything, so I'm going to do this one. After, I've read Ms. Boombastic for years.

4 Jobs You've Had:
1. Cleanup Guy at Bob's Processing in South Haven, MI: A very nice family runs and owns this place, and I still see them nearly every time I visit my hometown. I worked there starting when I was a sophomore in high school, and I worked every single school day from 4:00 until I got the place cleaned up. On the weekends, I cleaned up, and could also work the cash register (that was a thrill). During the summers, I worked full time. I worked there even when I returned home from college in the summers - all told, about five years. I would clean up animal guts and blood with a power washer, wash the floors and machines, and hang bacons and hams for the smoke house. It was my first job, teaching me all about responsibility, and also took away all taste for meat.

2. Produce clerk at D&W Foodstores: I loved working at D&W. I worked here the summer of my freshmen year in college. I kept the store stocked with fruits and vegetables, repackaged cut-up produce, and helped out old ladies pick out watermelons. I loved it.

3. Packager at Dart Paper Cup Factory in Mason, MI: This was the worst job I ever had. I lasted only three or four weeks, and it's the only time in my life I didn't give notice when I quit. It was such a dank, depressing place, and old guys would say things to me like, "Yeah, I thought I'd only work here for a summer, too, and now it's twenty years later." Never before had I felt so isolated, and I really got to know what it felt like to work for a machine. It's really dehumanizing to sit there, wait for a machine to spit out styrofoam cups, and then put them in stacks, then bags, then put them in boxes. Over and over and over again for ten hour shifts. I worked in a factory for the money - it was the cool thing to do in college - but at $6.75/hr, it definitely wasn't worth it. The other thing I remember most from this job is the hiring process. An old, old lady with a combover gave me a dexterity test in which I had to take about 20 block of different shapes and sizes and put them in holes that corresponded to their shapes. She timed me. It was ridiculous.

4. Night Receptionist: When I went there, Michigan State used student workers to make sure unwanted guests or unwanted alcohol got into the dorm after hours. I clocked in at 11:15 every night, went around and locked all the doors, and then set up in front of the door with the student ID scanner. I worked from 11:15 until 7am. I did this job for about three years, and really enjoyed it for the most part. I made some great friends, and the emergency training I received helped me when I applied to be an RA during my sophomore year. My years in residence life probably influenced me more than anything else I did in college, so I thank the night receptionist job for helping me do this. It probably also helped my weight balloon to 300lbs, though, as it didn't take much for us to order a pizza or drink tons of pop to pass the time.

Four movies you could watch over and over:
1. Magnolia
2. 40-Year Old Virgin
3. Heathers
4. Major League

Four places you've lived:
1. Baltimore, MD
2. East Lansing, MI
3. South Haven, MI
4. Redford, MI (Metro Detroit)

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. The Simpsons
2. Prison Break
3. The Wire
4. Friends

Places you've been on vacation:
1. Verona, Italy
2. Outer Banks, NC
3. Orlando and Lakeland, FL
4. South Haven, MI

Four of your favorite foods:
1. Pad Thai
2. Salmon (jerky, steaks, whatever)
3. pears
4. veggie burgers

Four places you'd rather be right now:
1. Thirsty Dog
2. Hawaii
3. Atlanta
4. Greece

Four sites I visit daily:
1. Detroit Tigers Worldcrossing Forum (http://wc4.worldcrossing.com/webx?14@@.eeba7cd)
2. Blogtimore, Hon (http://www.blogtimore.com)
3. http://www.rotoworld.com/content/playernews.asp?sport=MLB
4. http://educationwonk.blogspot.com/

And I'm tagging...
Nobody. I really don't know who else would do it, and don't read that many blogs.

Tipping faith

I made a lot of money today, most of it coming from a table I got just as I was about to be cut. The leader of this group ordered two bottles of $42 wine and six shots of Gray Goose at $7/each, helping his table amass a $320 bill for Sunday brunch. When we have tables of eight or more, we're allowed to add an 18% gratuity. You don't have to, though. For example, whenever I'm at a restaurant and a gratuity is added to my bill, I'm offended - I definitely would have left more than 18%, but since they didn't think I would, I probably won't. Therefore, I'm always careful when I add it; I only add it when I feel like the table will not be paying me my due, because I don't want to screw up a chance to get more than 18%.

I had a feeling that this table would treat me well, so I didn't add the gratuity. And I was right. They left me $413, tipping me more than 25%. My gamble paid off.

I got home too late to do much of anything, even though tonight amounts to a weekend night. I'm exhausted. There is nothing else new to report.

I did, however, enjoy this comment from my British co-worker, the one we joke is the Liverpool Ambassador of Classiness. She's the one who made out drunk with me at Lulu's Off Broadway over the summer. Today, we were crowded around the bar, and she left to go to the restroom, and she told us, "If anyone puts anything in my drink... just let me know how much I owe him."

House Repairs

It's so nice to sit in this house and hear through the windows only the faintest echoes of the torrential wind storm that is outside right now. With the old windows, they rattled at the slightest breeze. Tonight, it's the windiest it's been as long as I can remember in Baltimore, and there's no rattle and no draft. The difference is astounding.

Things have gotten a lot different in the house since SuperLesbian bought it in September. First off, Fool moved out in order to save some money. She was the best roommate I'd had at the place in the five years since I lived here, but her moving out may have been for the best, as the ensuing months of construction may have strained the available living space. I've left the first floor, and am now living upstairs. The basement is full of all the stuff on the first floor that wouldn't fit on the second floor.

Besides lots of painting and new windows, the landlord has also gotten the place a new stove. The furnace will be replaced in the next few days, as well as the electricity upgraded in preparation for a washer and drier in the basement. She's going to gut the kitchen next.

Very soon, that first floor will be done, and my rent will increase back to $750 a month. I'm anticipating this to be in March. This will leave me with some dilemmas. I could try to find a roommate, something that scares the heck out of me, or I could try to find another place to live, something that's pretty difficult with a dog and a cat. I checked through City Paper today, and I felt like just about every ad was "No Pets." As for a roommate, I don't mind having them, if they're good, but I've had my share of bad ones. Plus, the house's dynamics will be changed a bit with one kitchen rather than two; the overlap of living space is certainly something that is of concern.

All in all, it's been pretty exciting to watch the house be refurbished. However, it's also disconcerting - the house is being turned over under my eyes, and I walk in every day with new paint chips on the ground or new things I have to do in order to prepare for new workers to come in. I can't wait for it to be done, on one hand, but on another hand, I know that the completion of this work will force me to either find a roommate or move, neither prospect which makes me happy.

In other news, I've never been closer than I am right now of quitting the second job. I'm just so tired of working so much. If I get the guts, I will give my month's notice tomorrow. Or maybe I'll make a bunch of money tomorrow and delay it some more.

Satisfied with the house concert

What a great house concert. A simply amazing performance, a huge crowd (possibly the biggest ever), and one of the most genuinely nice artists I've ever hosted. We ended up going to Valentino's after the show, a little bit hazy from beer, but too hazy for an egg sandwich and home fries at 12:30am. I'm feeling it a little bit today, but that's mostly because workers have been at the house since 8:30 and I couldn't sleep it off.

My Uncle Jerry and I got along well. We went out to Ze Mean Bean for breakfast, and talked politics. It's so heartening to talk with someone who is 61 years old and a member of my extended family who is as disappointed with the way our country is going as I am. Uncle Jerry is a self-described single-issue voter - he thinks it's a grave sin that we're leaving such a huge deficit to our kids and grandkids - who, like me, is yearning for a leader who might be able to bridge the divide between the right and the left. We were both surmising what would have happened had the political leadership of the right decided McCain might have been the answer in 2000. McCain is too conservative for me, and I probably wouldn't have voted for him (I'm a bit of a single-issue[s] voter myself, as I couldn't vote for anyone who is anti-choice, unless I felt like they had amazing ideas about educational policy, and I'm pretty sure McCain is anti-choice), but at least I respect him, and feel like he is ethical while still being compromising. Bush clearly is not. We were then making some predictions for 2008, and both bemoaning the lack of true leadership that both parties seem to have right now.

I don't talk politics with anyone else I'm related to by blood. A little bit my sister, who at least voted for Kerry (but voted against same six civil unions in my home state of Michigan, and said, "If we allow people to marry whatever they want, we'll have people marrying their goat and trying to get tax benefits for themselves"). I'm pretty sure my mom voted for Kerry, and am pretty sure my dad voted for Bush. We really just don't talk about politics, though. This is fine, as I have no desire to get into arguments with my parents about politics. However, speaking with Jerry, who is my grandma's brother, and a product of Michigan, makes me realize that this apple didn't fall too far from the family tree. And that makes me happy.

I'm off to the gym to undo the things I put into my body yesterday.

Uncle Jerry's visit (or... fuck overthinking)

My great uncle - my grandma's younger brother - is visiting tomorrow for my house concert. He's a great guy, really laid back and optimistic, and I'm excited about seeing him. I'm also a little perplexed by his visit, though in a good way. I haven't seen him in over three years, and his visit is just for a night, just for my house concert, and then he's off to continue his globetrotting.

I got to know him best when I went down to visit him, his family, and my grandparents for Thanksgiving in 2002. He's a pretty rich guy, having gotten a job with IBM back when the company was just a start-up, and his house was beautiful - right on a lake, and right next to the guy who invented Viagra. No joke. I was also impressed with his taste; he loved folk, country, and rock music, and had his ears open for new bands despite being in his sixties. We've stayed in touch for the last few years, although I've never made it back down there for Thanksgiving like I had said I would at the time.

Because I haven't seen him in nearly three and a half years, my mind wandered back to that time. I think I saw him last at the high point in my life. I keep looking back at my second year of teaching as this apex of happiness that I hope to reclaim, and Unle Jerry's visit has me thinking about it again. Since that time three and a half years ago, the following events have occurred in my life:

1. First real relationship heartbreak that I'm still a little bitter about (maybe because she got married a couple months ago).
2. Major eye surgery on both eyes, near blindness, and the first health scare of my life.
3. I've gone from 190 to 220 pounds.
4. I've been to the lowest point financially I've ever been, as I was within days of having my car repossessed in summer 2003.
5. I was sued for $10,000 in a total bullshit case.
6. I got a second job (because of #4), and usually work 30 days a month.
7. My car was booted right around when #4 was occurring, and I still cringe at the amount of money that I had accrued in late fees.
8. I came within inches of getting laid off.

Some great things have happened, though, too:
1. First trip overseas (Italy, 2003) (see #4 and #6)
2. I was made head coach of the varsity baseball team at school.
3. I achieved tenure as well as a certain amount of respect in my career.
4. Cemented friendships through both jobs, social sports, roommates, and more.

Still, even with the positives, the first list exceeds the second. However, there's a certain pride I have in making it through the first eight. But I worry, as I'm about to see someone I haven't seen in over three years, that I've hardened to the world a bit. Compared to the person I was in November of 2002, I am less confident and quieter. I'm worried that what Uncle Jerry is going to see is that my life has gotten harder, my body has gotten softer, and my hair has grown thinner.

Or maybe he won't really care. Screw this paralysis through analysis. I'm excited to see Uncle Jerry, who is coming all the way up from North Carolina for my house concert. He's even coming early to help me move furniture. My parents haven't even come to a house concert before. This is awesome. Fuck overthinking. Uncle Jerry, I'll see you tomorrow.

January 2006 Mixed CD

I know that the Black-Eyed Peas are sort of dorky, homogenized hip-hop. I know that their formation was designed to make every PC liberal, and ever racial and ethnic group as happy as possible. (Or maybe I don't know that for sure, it just seems like it.) I know that the song "My Hump" is really, really dumb. So is "Let's Get Retarded," for that matter.

However, no matter what, I cannot get sick of the song "Where Is The Love?". No matter how many times I listen to it - and I just put it on my latest mixed CD - I just want to turn it up as loud as it can go and sing along.

My January '06 mixed CD does not have a theme. It's just songs I thought would be particularly good this month. That was my favorite of the day. I listened to it at least three times in between trips to school, the grocery store, home, and gym.

Here is the rest of the January '06 EiB mixed CD.

1. Gravel - Ani DiFranco (Living In Clip)
2. Everyday People - Arrested Development (3 years, 5 months, and 7 days in the Life Of...)
3. Where Is The Love - Black Eyes Peas (Elephunk)
4. Mint Juleps and Needles - Brenda Kahn (Epiphany in Brooklyn)
5. Don't Give Up Gently - Catie Curtis (Live bootleg)
6. Right Thurr - Chingy (Jackpot)
7. Testify - Common (Be)
8. Whored Out Again - Gerald Collier (Gerald Collier)
9. Pinball - Teddy Goldstein (The Love Lot)
10. Maybe I'm Amazed - Paul McCartney (Back in the U.S. Live 2002)
11. Trouble - Pink (Try This)
12. Penny for a Thought - Saul Williams (Amethyst Rock Star)
13. Drown - Son Volt (A Retrospective 1995-2000)
14. Downpressor Man - Sinead O'Conner (Throw Down Your Arms)
15. Signed, Sealed, Delivered - Stevie Wonder, DJ Smash Mix (Motown Remixed)
16. Don't Think Twice, It's Alright - Bob Dylan (Live from Austin, TX)
17. America - Tracy Chapman (Where You Live)
18. Knapsack - Amy Rigby (Diary of a Mod Housewife)

Recognition

I definitely do not teach for the recognition, but it's certainly nice when it comes. Today, we had the standard mid-year performance review. This often occurs like it did last year - a meeting with a person who has never seen me teach, who gives me three proficients (the highest score) and one satisfactory (the average score), explaining that, "We like to give you a little kick in the pants, something to work on." It's pretty meaningless and I don't really care much about it.

And that's still true, although today there was some tension in the halls, as some teachers were less than happy with their mid-year performance assessments. Angry memos were fired off, and there was even a teacher who stormed out. I became a little nervous.

However, I received a 100% proficient - four straight scores of "P." My department head said she would have a hard time justifying it to her superiors, because young teachers are not "supposed" to get this rating, but she was planning on sticking with it. She then looked at me and said, "Thank you for your leadership and your hard work this year. I have no idea how you do it." She was implying that she didn't know how I could do it without a classroom, so maybe there was a bit of sympathy in her assessment of me, but, heck, I'll take it. Floating between classrooms really is hellish.

I then walked downstairs, stopping in the College Advising office (an office, by the way, that got some big-time national attention today in the form of a USA Today article about the office). A woman stopped me, and said she had been wanting to set up a meeting with me. Apparently, there were a lot of students, particularly male students, who had cited activities conducted with me in their college essays, particularly kids on the baseball team and those who went on Outward Bound. We then spent about a half hour talking about current seniors, many of whom I haven't taught in a few years, as they took notes so they could write their college recommendations for these particular students. I almost teared up. Of course, "Bobby" was one of the kids mentioned prominently. Another of my favorites, "D," just made it into the University of Pittsburgh and Salisbury College today. He's still hoping for the full ride Hopkins scholarship, though. This, of course, was the best news of all. "D" had stopped by to see me earlier in the day, coming into my office and still doing the same stuttery, fidgety conversational tics as he did as a 9th grader - only now he's 6'2" and has an air of confidence to go along with the tics. I felt so happy when he left, and, later, when the college advisors sung his praises.

So I couldn't be more content right now. I'm going to have another great workout - like I've had all week - and then head home and prepare for my house concert. Anybody wanna come? It's Friday night, with Rose Polenzani.

Three pointer

1. This is the type of winter weather that I remember from my first winter in Maryland, and this is the type of weather I was hoping for when I fled the Michigan winters. I love snow days, but if it's not going to be a snow day, I'd rather it be temperate during the winter. I'd still like one more good snow week sometime this month, but then a February that is fairly warm, so that the baseball field is in good condition when the team starts on March 1.

2. I cannot believe what teachers, and the city schools, get away with this week and next week. Midterms are this week, meaning the kids leave at 10:50 (most of the them) or 12:50. Therefore, I've been leaving at 2pm and doing grading elsewhere. Next week is even more ridiculous. On Tuesday and Wednesday, there is no school. Well, officially there is school, but they're "makeup days" for exams, meaning there will be no attendance taken and no kids there. Yet, they count as our 180 days of instruction for the year. It's messed up, but actually it's a lot like college is, and gives us teachers a nice working break during the middle of January.

3. The girl and I? Second date is Monday. At Thirsty Dog. With our dogs.

Once on This Island. (and thank god it's only once.)

If you count high school productions, you can count on two fingers the amount of musicals I've seen in my life; if you ban the high school performances, the number is just one: last season's Two Gentlemen of Verona at CenterStage. I liked it. It was a rock musical with a lot of influence from the 1970s, a musical era I like, and the musical updated a Shakespeare play with an anti-war message. I dug it.

Tonight, though, I was reminded why I have always shied away from the genre. Once On This Island is the epitome of everything bad about musicals - cartoonish acting, the inability for the audience (or at least me) to suspend disbelief as to why these people are singing instead of talking, songs without hooks, a lack of a plot. I've always heard that a characters in a musical should give the audience the impression that there's so much emotion built within them that they have no choice but to sing; here, I didn't get the impression at all. It felt like it was designed for elementary aged kids. It was torture. I literally stared at the wall.

At the intermission, I looked to my three friends for agreement. I got none of it. Apparently, I was the only one who didn't like it. "They're so talented," one of my friends said. I don't care if they are talented (and they were, except the crazy long-haired man playing the devil) if the show is crap. My friend, the music teacher, said, "Their music is phenomenal. Such artistry." Frankly, I didn't much care for it. The music was monotonous to me.

Anyhow, I left at intermission. I couldn't bear the thought of staying in that audience for another hour. The problem was, we parked at The Charles and ate at Tapas Teatro, and it's quite a walk from Center Stage to The Charles. I was going to take a cab. Until I realized what a beautiful night it was. I just strolled up Charles Street, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather, and made my way home.

Sutter elected to Hall of Fame; Epiphany is pissed off

Bruce Sutter was just elected into Baseball's Hall of Fame. He's the only player this year. It's ridiculous.

I know Sutter gets some credit for developing the split finger pitch, but I have no idea how he is considered a better pitcher than Goose Gossage or Lee Smith. All were very comparable in their primes. Are Gossage and Smith being penalized because they stuck around for longer and got more cheap saves?

Gossage and Smith were both effective into their late thirties and early forties. I think that should help them, but it hurts them. I've always ranked Sutter behing Gossage and Smith when tallying my own (meaningless) HoF vote.

Bert Blyleven's (the game's best starting pitcher between Nolan Ryan and Roger Clemens, an entire generation) low vote total continues to be stunning, as are Alan Trammell's (2nd best shortstop of his generation after Ripken, and a much better player overall than Ozzie Smith) and Jack Morris's (the best starting pitcher besides Blyleven in between Clemens and Ryan, and the best Big Game pitcher of his time, penalized because his ERA rose in his later years). I'm now on the Jim Rice bandwagon, as well; the steroids era has tainted my view back to thinking he was a pretty premier player. Still no on Andre Dawson or Tommy John, though. I bet they're disappointed.

The ugly carrot cake

It is not every day that I get a marriage proposal. Today, I did. From a 50s-ish teacher who loved the carrot cake I baked for my colleague's birthday. "You bake?" she said. "Will you marry me?" She used to be a model, too. Thirty years ago.

I don't really "bake." I have cereal for dinner most nights, and a veggie burger and raw carrots or broccoli on other nights nights. But it was my friend's birthday - the same friend who lost her father and grandfather in the last month - and since she's always one to make sure a cake shows up on the table for others, I wanted to make sure the same happened for her. And it was cheaper to bake one than to buy one pre-made. All I did was follow the instructions on the box, and it only took about an hour total.

I must say, it was pretty good. However, it was one of the ugliest cakes you're ever going to see. I tried to write "Happy Birthday Rose" on it but it was scrawled so messily that it looked like the work of a kindergardener's. "Well," the friend said, laughing. "That's why you became a teacher and not a cake decorator." Words of wisdom.

After work, we headed to Los Amigos, a little Mexican place very close to my house. Great food and margaritas, as usual, but it's one of those places where the bill skyrockets (8 people, $167) without anyone noticing, and you can't really doublecheck if the server screwed up because none of the prices are enumerated on the ancient-style receipt. Oh well. We paid.

Polish dirt and my grandpa's coffin

A long-lost Polish relative found me via a google search and contacted me in a letter I posted here. My family and I have been talking with this Polish relative ever since. Today, my father sent me this e-mail that he (my father) had sent the this longlost relative today. I think it's pretty fascinating, so I decided to post it here.

My mother and father, I and H, came to America in 1951, along with my brother (actually my half brother) K. My mother's first husband died in the war.

They moved to Detroit, Michigan when they arrived. They lived there for several years before moving to a suburb of Detroit, Redford Township. My mother worked as a waitress for a short time, then became a hair stylist at a beauty salon and also worked in a department store.

My father worked in several factories in Detroit before becoming a licensed barber and having his own shop. His first shop was in Detroit, then in the suburbs.

My parents had many friends here in Michigan, mainly other families who also immigrated from Poland to America. Since I certainly can't relate everything from the last 50 years to you, let me tell you just one story my family will always remember. Mom and Dad were good friends with a LB and his wife. Dad and he were both Prisoners of War, were in the same camp together, and had escaped together. They were friends there in Poland, and also here in Michigan throughout their lives. When my father died on January 26, 1991 of a stroke, many friends attended the funeral, including LB. When the time came LB got up and walked to his casket. He took a plastic baggie from inside his wallet and poured the contents into my dads casket. It was dirt from "the homeland, Poland". Both he and my dad had promised each other that whover died first, the other would bury them with some soil from the homeland, Poland. I must say, it was a very emotional moment, and a fitting end to my fathers life.

This has become a long e-mail, hasn't it?

I was born May 22, 1952. I married my wife L in 1976. L is a Nurse at a local Doctors office here in South Haven. We have 2 children. My daughter H is completing college in Grand Rapids (60 miles away). She is 25 years old. My son, M, is 28. He lives in Baltimore, Maryland, about 700 miles away. He is a high school teacher there.

I retired from the Michigan State Police in 2003. After several months off (and getting quite bored), I now work as a police officer part-time, in the county that I live in.

My mother, I, has been in an assisted living home, and now nursing home, in Detroit since 2000. She has alzheimers disease, and remembers very little. My older brother, K, lives just north of Detroit with his wife. He works for Ford Motor Company, and since he lives the closest he visits our mother more often than H, Jr. or I. H, Jr. lives with his wife in Flint, about 60 miles from Detroit. H, Jr. recently retired from the Michigan Department of Natural Resources.

Well, this is probably the longest e-mail that I have ever written. I hope it is informative to you. I'm still working on the DVD to send you.

Back to me now... I remember the moment when "LB" put the dirt from Poland on my grandfather's coffin. I remember it a little differently than my dad does; I remember it in a little baggie, and "LB" taping it to the coffin. He spoke in Polish, sputtering out the words in between sobs. It was one of the saddest things I've ever witnessed.

This is my paternal grandma and grandpa with me, circa early 1978:

The 18-person party

Tonight was the type of night that makes waiting tables fun. I come in at 5:13 - thirteen minutes late, because of lack of a parking space - and am immediately told I have an 18-person party coming in at 6:15. I rush and get the tables ready and wait, guzzling black coffee and waiting for the first ones to arrive.

They do, and I chat them up. They're from out of town, and I love selling Baltimore almost as much as I love selling the restaurant. I genuinely like both Baltimore and the restaurant, so it's easy to do both. "This part of the city is Fell's Point," I tell them. "The oldest part of the city." (Uh, I have no idea if this is true.)

"Just down the block, there are cobblestone streets. Down over there (I point in a random direction) is where Frederick Douglass grew up, and over there (I point towards Friends Bar) is where Billie Holiday used to sing."

One woman is from Portland, and the other is from Australia. I tell them to try the Polish mulled wine, and they both do, and thank me for the suggestion.

They're enamored with me. So are the rest of the guests, when they arrive. I take their drink orders. And, oh, these people are drinkers. Not only drinkers, but they're vodka snobs, meaning the vodka martinis are Gray Goose and $9.00 instead of Barton's and $7.50. Seventeen of the eighteen people drink alcohol, an unbelievable ratio. And most of them have two or more drinks.

Then I get a sniff that these people are going to be even better than I imagined: the company is picking up the tab. Obviously, you're going to eat and drink a lot more if your boss is paying. I begin to smell blood.

I continue talking with them, working hard to make sure everyone's place is clear and everyone's drink is full. There's a set menu of six items they can choose from, so questions are minimal. I just take their order, and bring it to the kitchen. After each course, I quickly take away their plates and silverware and reset them. I know exactly how much I can carry down in one load, and exactly how much I can carry up in the next. I know that Woman A needs her water refilled before she even knows it. I know all the jokes I tell, and use every last one of them. I sell them on desserts, even though they've already had three courses.

Their overall check? In the area of $800. My take for the evening? $150, which was an 18% gratuity. I've got to tip out 20% of that, but that still means I walk with $120. I work for just a shade over five hours.

Some nights, like Wednesday, I can work all night and make $20. But tonight, I worked for five hours and made three times the hourly rate I do then I make as a teacher. That's awesome.

I still want to quit, though. Soon. I want to get my payoff amount for my car and see if I can just pay it all off in one swoop once I get my coaching money.

Late to the Curb

I am not sure how it took me so long to discover it, but I just watched season one of Curb Your Enthusiasm and I laughed really, really hard while watching it. I've now put other seasons near the top of my Netflix queue, and have decided that at all times, I want to have at least one TV show DVD to have at home because they're so easy to watch in the half-hour bursts rather than the two hours I'd have to commit to either Closer or The Fog of War, which are the other two movies sitting here on my shelf.

Had a great workout today, hopefully I'm now back on track. My first week of 2006 went pretty shitty in the fitness department. One day missing the gym sends me into a tailspin. I went on Monday and Tuesday this week, but missed on Wednesday (when I had to work the second job), had a semi-good workout running with the dog and lifting weights on Thursday, and then nothing again on Friday. Two-point-five days out of five. That's shitty.

In other news, the landlord put in a new stove at the place today. Sweet. I made sure to be long gone so I didn't have to be around to see the worker guys try to get it up the stairs, something I was sure was going to be unsuccessful. But it worked, because it's sitting right up here in the kitchen now.

Rose P on Friday the 13th

So I looked all through the City Paper this week, checking out all the concerts in the Baltimore, DC, and Annapolis area. And you know what? There's not ONE in the entire area that I would pay money to see.

Except for one. The one I'm hosting next week with Rose Polenzani.

I'll be honest: my last house concert sucked. The performer was sullen and uninspired.

With Rose Polenzani, though, I know I'm getting one of the best songwriters around, and a performer that has been good enough to perform with such artists as David Gray, Leonard Cohen, and the Indigo Girls. She's been called the heir apparent to Nick Drake. Don't take my word for it - listen to her sing her composition "This Bitter Heart" and Bruce Springsteen's "I'm On Fire" at her myspace page.

Anyway, this is the last show until the end of April, so if you've always been wondering what this strange house concert phenomenon is all about, this might be the one for you... It's also going to be the one with the plainest decor. We'll clean up all the paint chips before everyone gets here.

Success

Don't be fooled by the fact that it's only a little 11 o'clock when I'm writing this; the date occurred and went well. She showed up on time, we had a great conversation for a couple hours while eating, then we headed over to see Casanova at The Charles. We saw it, liked the movie, walked around, and then ended the date well. All seemed good all around. I'm actually excited about asking her out again.

A few comments:

1. I can't believe I thought so much about what I was going to put on. I was thinking about khakis vs. jeans, shave vs. stubble, Axe vs. No Axe, when finally I just thought to myself, "Okay, Epiph, this is the day when you stop thinking so much." It worked.

2. I did end up wearing the Axe. Because of those commercials, you know.

3. I also shaved. All the way. Usually I leave some stubble. I hate being totally cleanly shaved. But I figured that it was a special occasion.

4. Joe Squared should become the destination of choice to meet before or after a movie at The Charles. What great pizza,a nd a nice laid back atmosphere. By the way, Joe's place was reviewed by City Paper.

5. She is extremely good looking. Like I feel a little like I'm fighting out of my weight class, as one of my friends used to say. But that's not going to stop me from calling her again in two days.

6. I was trying to think of my lasat date, and it actually wasn't that long ago - September 25. But that seems so long from now. And that was so *not* what I did tonight. That one was an almost random, internet-feuled hookup, or at least that's all it ever turned out to be (since the asshole didn't return subsequent e-mails or calls). Plus, since that was in Tyson's Corner, I had to sit back and be led around. Here, I could take more charge. I actually asked an attractive girl who I knew a bit socially out on my own. It felt a lot better.

7. All the fuss earlier in the week about movie choice was all for naught. Brokeback Mountain? She mentioned it again when we got together, but we missed the showing by a half hour. I don't think the Sarah Silverman movie was playing. So the choice was clear - Casanova - and made even more clear because we'd both been to Venice and it's shot on location there.

Just give me razor blades and vinegar next time

The first rule of faculty meetings is never say anything. Never ask a question, never raise a concern. At best, you'll just make it go longer, and not get anything accomplished. At worst, you're labeled a whiner. This is generally the problem with faculty meetings. Today, it was much more than that, though.

It was one of those meetings where you think to yourself, "Why don't they just give us a bunch of razor blades, a gallon of vinegar, and come back and see us in an hour?" Because that would be less painful.

We were lectured for fifteen minutes on the inmportance of signing in. We were then told that last year, "about 80%" of faculty did not sign in correctly, and that if the problem persisted, then our paychecks would be docked retroactively for the days not signed in.

I have always signed in. It's not that hard. Yet, I had to hear an entire lecture about why we need to, then hear the ludicrous statement that 80% of faculty isn't signing in. A cursory glance of any daily sign-in sheet will tell anyone that this number is over the top in the worst way.

Then, the principal spends fifteen minutes talking to us about school culture. I basically like the guy, but I hate hearing him talk. This speech was no different. First of all, he compares running schools to running a business, and that we're a "Performance Based Profession." These are terminology things, but I've always bristled at calling schools a business. They're not a business. We're not churning out product. If school were a business, then you might as well just put closed captioned TV in every classroom with an instructor videoed and not hire any other teachers. And "Performance Based Profession" generally means we're being judged on testing, a tool which we have no hand in creating, and which are subject to the massive amount of variables that interact with the data. For example, a significant portion of our students passed the HSA in English, but not all of them. However, the numbers reported included students that are just on the roll - of which there are many - who didn't even take the test, they just have never been taken off roll and never show up. I have kids who miss half the time. I call home, I do all I can. I can't do anything about it if they fail the test. Lastly, I have no control over the level at which kids arrive in my classroom. I teach the lowest level students in the school, yet I'm to be judged at the same standard as the highest level? So I bristle a bit at saying my profession is Performance Based.

Anyhow, that's okay. I'm used to hearing all that crap. Then, he says, "We have to become a more diverse student body. Right now, we're 92% Black and 8% white and 2% other (uh, interesting math), and we've got to recruit white students. I'm not pulling punches here: we're going after the private school kids. I don't want anyone to be offended, but that's where I'm looking. We've got to get more white kids so we can match the diversity of our student body with our faculty body." He then talked about being the number one school in the city, in the state, and in the nation.

Our principal, who is black, meant well, I'm sure. But can you imagine a white principal saying, "We've got to go get some more black kids to increase diversity"? I mean, yeah, it's done, but it's not said like that. Maybe that makes it more okay, and maybe it's better to be more honest and direct. I'm sure I don't know for sure. But the larger problem was that the insinuation that I was left with was that, "We've got to go get some white kids so our test scores improve." Now, he didn't say it in those words. But it just felt that way. And forget about the burdgeoning Latino population we have in this city to improve our diversity. Nope, we're going after the white kids.

The more pressing problem with the meeting is the continual dodging of questions by administration. I sometimes feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone, in a world in which no questions are ever answered. The one thing I was wondering about all staff meeting is why our final exams have gone from two hours last year to an hour and forty-five minutes this year. It sucks. I've given a two-hour exam for four years in a row, and now I have to shorten it, with no explanation why? So I wanted to ask. But, of course, I'm not going to ask a question at a meeting. But someone did.

"Why are our exams shortened this year?"

"Oh, the new schedule is by the sign-in book. There was an error."

"So they're not an hour and forty-five minutes anymore?"

"Well, check the schedule."

Afterwards, we check the schedule. The only thing changed was the start and end times; the time of the exams were still the same. I then ask my department head the same question - Why were they shortened?

"They weren't. Just check the new schedule. Didn't you hear them answer that in the meeting?"

I wanted to scream. After spelling it out for her, she suggested I shorten my exam. Yup, that's a solution.

I left, wanting to scream into the night. Instead, I'm going to go run five miles at the gym. As soon as the New Year's Resolutionists clear on out of there. Hopefully around 7.

No tips tonight

I wish I hadn't decided to make a double payment on my car this month because I'm broke and the $30 I made in tips tonight just doesn't cut it. Still, am pretty primed for the date on Friday. She still is mentioning "Brokeback Mountain" every time, which, again, I'm okay with, but I think I'm going to start pushing for the Sarah Silverman movie. I think laughing a lot will help break the ice. Either way, we're not going to decide until we leave Joe Squared, and we might even skip the movie altogether. But she hasn't been to the Charles since she was in high school so we'll probably end up there for one of the movies. Maybe Casanova; that'll show her what I'm about.

It's been a long time since I've had a first date with somebody, and I'm pretty excited. Surprisingly, not nervous. I'll save that for Friday afternoon, when I'm sure I'll stop off at Brewer's Art for a Resurrection before I make my way over to the restaurant.

The Story of Holden

On New Year's Eve, my landlord came over to do some work on the house. I was not home, and didn't know she was coming. Neither did Holden. The landlord came into the house, and Holden ran to the door, which she had propped. She thought he was going to run away, so she grabbed him. Holden doesn't know her, and he turned around and apparently bit her. She went to the hospital. It's a minor injury - no stitches - but it still scared the hell out of me.

I immediately thought about the incident with the lying garbage man from three years ago. This incident brought with it a ten-day holding of Holden to see if he was a vicious dog that cost me $500, a $10,000 lawsuit against me that I won, and a lot of stress. What's more, it was proven both by the hospital that the lying garbage man went to, and the subsequent trial, that he wasn't bitten; there weren't even teeth marks. In fact, he was just trying to make a buck.

However, I've always heard that dogs only get two chances, and I found out last time that dogs do not get any sort of presumption of innocence. If a person says a dog bit him - any person, regardless of the fact that he might be a crackhouse owner who owes the city $20,000 in backtaxes and fines (like the lying garbage man) - then it's assumed to be true. Therefore, I thought this would be the second time and that's it - a date with a needle. I envisioned myself hightailing it up to Michigan with the dog and giving him to my parents, or at least having him hide out with the Polish girl for a while.

You see, the landlord - who, by the way, blames herself for grabbing him, and has apologized almost more than I have - went to the hospital, and the hospital has to report it. And they did. Yesterday, I received a call from animal control, which is exactly what happened last time. I'm thinking to myself, "I've already seen this movie; I don't want it to be replayed." I started thinking to myself how I could get away with this. Say I gave away the dog to my parents? Figure out some other way? My landlord even tried calling, trying to explain that she didn't want the bite reported. No dice.

But after talking with the woman just now, I feel a lot better. All I have to do is send in the proof of rabies vaccination. Since he wasn't due again until 4/06, he's fine there. Because someone came onto the property and provoked him, she explained, they're not concerned about dog viciousness.

And neither am I. Anyone who has met Holden knows he's a nice dog - gentle and funny. But he's an animal, and he freaks out a bit when people come into the house when I'm not around. And he should. He's a watchdog, after all.

But it was scary. He'll be okay, though.

The Disappointment of Michael Olesker

What a bummer about Michael Olesker. He came to my classroom once, about three years ago, when the budget crisis was occurring. He just seemed like a sweet man, very genuine and direct, and I liked his columns much of the time. His political writings never did that much to me - compared with Joe MacLeod's (Edit: I hate Joe MacLeod's writing... I meant the other guy, Brian Morton) or Russ Smith's reliable work, they didn't give me much to think about - but his portraits of Baltimore and characterizations of its people were often poignant and funny.

By the end of the day today, I had printed out the article from the Sun and used it as an anti-plagiarism mini-lesson for my students. Olesker's books are displayed in the showcase on the first floor, so this especially a bummer for us.

City Paper always seemed to have it out for him, so it doesn't surprise me that they brought him down. But this is all on Olesker's shoulders. Even me, who always tend to see the good in people, don't buy that this is an accident. There are very clear examples of plagiarism on most of the media stories about this, so you can see for yourself.

What I'm left with, though, is trying to remember Olesker for what he could be - a great writer. While I'm far from an expert on his work, this is my favorite column of his. I've used it in the classroom, and it still is powerful to me even after the crisis has passed.

Here it is:

Courtside at the Crisis in Baltimore’s Public School System” by Michael Olesker

THE VOICE ON the radio said the temperature was 38 degrees. The shadows were falling on East 20th Street, directly behind the Baltimore school headquarters on North Avenue, and these kids in the neighborhood schoolyard were defying every lurking pneumococcus in the frigid, fading daylight.

The kids were playing pickup basketball. Inside school headquarters, the great thinkers of the city school system were trying to figure out the misplacement of millions of dollars allegedly used to educate these kids. Good luck to them, and to all those grownups who have joined in the search for the money. They'd better bring bloodhounds.

Outside, in the piercing cold, some of the kids wore sweat shirts and knit caps as they practiced jump shots. Others wore T-shirts. Inside school headquarters, the great thinkers were clothed in their embarrassment, as these millions of dollars disappeared over years and years while nobody capable of doing simple arithmetic took particular notice.

"You know about this money?" I asked a couple of the kids.

"The school money?" asked Chucky Rhone, 13. He dribbled a red-white-and-blue basketball and gestured toward the huge school headquarters building across the street.

"Shoot the ball, man," a couple of voices under the basket shouted his way.

"Yeah," said Chucky, "I know about it."

"What do you know?"

"That lady," he said. "She lost $9 million, what's her name?"

"Who'd she give it to, a principal?" asked Andre Chase, 12.

"They gave her $9 million, and she lost it?" said Charmanique Harvey, 14.

"Not $9 million," they were told now. "It's more like $58 million."

Actually, there's the $58 million public school cash-flow shortfall, plus the $58 million deficit, but let's stick with the single $58 million figure to keep it simple for the moment, since even the adults are having trouble understanding this.

"Fifty-eight million," Chucky Rhone said now. "Dag."

"I ain't never had that much," said Eshawn Lawrence, 10.

"Come on," came a couple of voices again. "Shoot the ball, man."

They are out there every day. It is part of the ritual of any big city in America, kids fleeing schools at day's end and hitting the basketball courts until the sun disappears behind buildings and sends everyone home. The classic reasoning for the games, beyond sheer physical exhilaration, is: Basketball is seen as the ticket out of poverty. On East 20th Street, in the shadow of school headquarters, are long-abandoned rowhouses, some burned out, others with windows shattered, and wads of trash blowing about.

But there's a flip side to this thinking, an argument that says basketball is a cruel dream and that millions of youngsters waste precious hours shooting baskets when they could be learning the rudiments of some future, nonathletic profession, where the odds aren't so long.

"How come you're out here in this cold?" they were asked now.

"Because we couldn't play on snow days," said Andre Chase, "so we gotta catch up."

"And football season's over," said Christopher Jones, 14. They turned to watch Leon Wells, 14, dribble the ball between his legs on his way to a jump shot from the corner. Andre Chase wore a white T-shirt and slipped his bare, freezing arms inside it while he talked.

"I got on three shirts," said Chucky Rhone.

"What about this school situation?" the kids were asked.

They aren't supposed to know about such things, but maybe they do. They are children, granted a child's distance from such adult concerns, but the numbers are so staggering, and the anger of their teachers so palpable, that maybe it has reached their attention: the $58 million cash-flow problem, the $58 million deficit, the $42 million in state bailout money to match $16 million from the city and the Abell Foundation.

"My mother said she's worried," said Chucky Rhone. "She teaches over at Samuel Coleridge Elementary. She said she's worried teachers might be fired."
A long rebound came off the side rim and bounced near Chucky. School officials have infuriated teachers with talk of pay cuts. Chucky pumped up a jumper, but a stiff late-afternoon gust of wind drove it off course. Without pay cuts, say school officials, there might have to be 1,200 layoffs, sending reverberations through classrooms across town.

"What about a game?" somebody said.
Eshawn Lawrence, 10, nodded his head.

"He can't play," said Chucky Rhone.

"What you mean?" said Eshawn, looking hurt.

"He only got a right hand," said Chucky, laughing. "He can't go with his left hand."

"Oh," said Eshawn, smiling.

They live in a world where 10-year olds are supposed to have basketball skills with both hands. They also live in a world where the grown-ups in the big building across East 20th Street seem incapable of doing simple arithmetic. We can argue all we want about the benefits of study time vs. basketball practice. but at moments like this, with the schools trying to pull out of their latest catastrophe, and layoffs right and left, a dream career in basketball seems no more a long shot than a legitimate public school education.

Lime popsicle addiction

I have eaten one box of lime juice popsicles from Trader Joe's in each of the last three days. I still have all three empty boxes in my freezer because I don't know why.

They're sixty calories each, so that's 240 empty calories I've consumed in each of the last three days. I've pretty much negated 18 minutes of my cardio in each of those days.

I think I'll just have to go 18 additional minutes whenever I decide to buy a damn box of those things, since apparently I do not have the willpower to eat just one of them. But they're so refreshing! Not too sweet! The perfect level of tartness!

At least my continued salmon jerky addiction is pretty healthy.