Day one. AKA back at school, chea.

Well, looks like I'm joining the blogosphere. I suppose there's no other reason than I simply need to write consistently, if I don't, I won't. Get it? This post will be divided into three subsections: SCHOOL, BABY, and MUSIC. Why? I don't know, shut up.

SCHOOL
Today was the first day back from winter break at school (school being United for Success Middle School in East Oakland). I was apprehensive as hell to get back into the grind after two weeks of doing basically nothing at all, besides watching my baby - to be discussed later. When I walked in, though, the vibe was conspicuously awesome. I was wishing all my favorite thugettes and ne'erdowells a happy new year and getting high and low fives like they grew on trees. Beautiful. In class we had soppy Christmas stories to share: "Over break, my Aunty got arrested 'cuz she ran over her boyfriend with her car!" Awww.
To make it better - Mondays are Art days, so everybody was blissfully shaping Lil Waynes and Randy Mosses out of red clay with our resident Museum of Children's Art Artist while I got to go shoot the shit with my students about whatever (my favorite thing to do). So far, I learned from Cecilia that I can "go hard" and "beast" at the same time, but only if my shoes are brand new, and since my Dunks are pretty "Bootsy" and "hurt" right now, I really need to get fitted quick. Also, I learned that Dulce de Leche candies are HELLA GOOD if they come from Mexico as a present.

Then the day went to crap. Let me sum it up like this, since I don't feel like dwelling on the negative: One kid popped an Ecstasy pill at PE and, never having done Ecstasy before, freaked out. Hard. Only, his freaking out to me, who is not looking for symptoms of Ecstasy usage at 10 AM on a monday morning in 13 year olds, took his lolling about and looking forlorn as being just "sick" as he said he was. So, I sent him on his merry way to the office with a note to call mom and go home. An hour or so later, and his mom was up at school, threatening everybody with horrible things (as would I if my kid came home on E) and trying to physically assault some other students in my class. Fun Times.

Plus I forgot my lunch and all they gave me at school for the school lunch was a corn dog with no stick and 6 french fries. I'm not kidding. I wish I was. Good lord. That's enough about school.




BABY:

My baby girl Isla is 9 months old now, and is all over the place. She doesn't quite crawl, though, she does this scuttlebug thing where she sits upright, throws her body forward, then steps with her right foot and drags her left foot under her like it has atrophied terribly and she can't quite force it to do what it should. It's cute. Cute like retarded puppies. Speaking of which, somehow our puppy, a shit huahua (literally and figuratively), can make her laugh way more than either I or my wife can... that's demeaning. Her favorite pasttimes include: calling everything kitty, eating egg yolk, eating string cheese, smearing said egg yolk and string cheese on everything, then calling it kitty, screaming for no apparent reason, then smiling when I get worried, and pooping. All kinds of pooping.
Over the break I bought her a rocking horse, a genuine 60's or 70's rocking horse with pastel pinks and blues all over it, and a really cool fire truck that makes really cool fire truck noises and screeches to a halt. She has alphabet blocks and wooden dolls and stuffed animals and rattles and all kinds of brightly colored plastic crap that I don't understand. But everytime she sits on the floor, only one thing gets her attention - the chewed rawhide dogbone. These should be cathartic moments for me, where I realize that possessions are pointless and everything, but they're not. They're just gross moments to me, where I realize that my baby daughter has soggy pieces of slobbery rawhide bone in her mouth.



MUSIC:

I've been listening to lots and lots of really good music lately. I'll save that for another post. And, after getting sucked in to the Serato Revolution for DJing, I can save my vinyl to listen to at home as well as add way more to my set when I perform.

I have two things to say about music at this moment. 1. There were like a zillion good songs recorded in Brazil from 1960-1979. 2. If Lil Wayne has three tears on his face, does that really mean he killed three folks in prison, and if so, was it because they ate his pizza pockets? This kind of stuff keeps me up at night. Good night Lil Wayne.