The "Waiting For Superman" house-party at Old Soul on Saturday was, in the end, just another sign from the universe that I'm on the right path. Funny to find out what teachers and education advocates think of the film. Some love it, some see it as pure propaganda. As Jean said, however, when I told her it was a big factor in motivating me toward becoming a teacher, "If it gets people active, then I'll give it credit for that," though she was rather disappointed with the whole event.
Got my haircut. Trimmed the beard. Feels good.
Got my haircut. Trimmed the beard. Feels good.
Nick punched a meth-addict twice his size in the face on Sunday in front of a church where the guy was beating up on some woman in the middle of the day.
Andrew came back through town today. He vanished a few months ago, a nomadic hippie character who used to live in the house I live in now, and has been working on a farm in Santa Cruz. He gave me some seeds for the garden that Jenny and I want to start. Neat to see an old face from a new point of view. Glad he's doing alright. He said the same about me.
Finally got to see the Sunday Farmer's Market, with Jenny, on bikes.
Dinner at Zelda's with Jenny and some of her family on Sunday went well. Nice people. Good pizza. Felt my best when we started talking about "Waiting For Superman" (big topic, these days) and schools and education and all the things I'm starting to wrap my head around. I think I made the standard soft-spoken, calm and collected first-impression that I generally make. An observer. I think before I speak or say nothing at all. I had a good time.
The L stands for Laura.
Jenny's pretty sure she wouldn't be leaving for Korea until around December or so because of pre-existing contracts. She has a few ducks to put in a row. A few lattes to foam before she cleans the espresso machine, in barista-speak. So there's that. Also, she might try to get into Berkeley or Columbia and pursue publishing, equally valuable, equally plausible. I want to support whatever path she takes, knowing the comfort of finding my own, knowing it's possible for everyone to stumble across their future, even if it's not the future they expected it to be, even if it was a future they once rejected completely.
Jenny's pretty sure she wouldn't be leaving for Korea until around December or so because of pre-existing contracts. She has a few ducks to put in a row. A few lattes to foam before she cleans the espresso machine, in barista-speak. So there's that. Also, she might try to get into Berkeley or Columbia and pursue publishing, equally valuable, equally plausible. I want to support whatever path she takes, knowing the comfort of finding my own, knowing it's possible for everyone to stumble across their future, even if it's not the future they expected it to be, even if it was a future they once rejected completely.
Drew sold his truck.
Portal 2 comes out tomorrow.
Today's tutoring gig involved getting kids to brainstorm and write a short story about an alien's adventure on Earth. Some, like Kevin, took to the assignment without hesitation, churning out two pages within the hour. Some, like Zion (and most others) resisted the idea, until one of us adults sat down with them and talked them through the creative process. Where did the alien land? What happened next? What did the alien look like? Did it have a name? A motive? How does the story end? Kids with plot-point outlines, spiderweb charts of ideas, some of them coming up with the most ridiculous storyline ever, some going for the happy endings, some going for stories of mass destruction. This was a class of seventh-grade boys, mind you. They were hard to keep on task. Some didn't get much farther than the brainstorming. But it was neat to listen to them create stories. It was inspiring to watch them think about what they, as a reader, would want to read. And even the most reluctant, like Zion, scrawled out a page of narrative before the hour's end, and it wasn't half bad. Sure it's a tad immature. Sure it's not a Pulitzer prize winner. But it's a result. It's imagination. It's something that starts on shaky legs and finds strength with practice. They'll figure that out one day. Until then, it's okay to be goofy. It's okay to be ridiculous. So long as they're writing. So long as they're trying.
Then Randall was absent, so I got to go home early.
Watched Rescuers Down Under outside as the bonfire caught with Paul, Shaun, Julie and Jenny. Purple clouds above, sans rain, thankfully. A nice night. Good fire. Happened upon Paul earlier and we got sandwiches at Mr. Pickles and talked about the flaws of hierarchy in the workplace. Got a little high and we ranted to Jenny about the flaws of eating ribs. Jenny was facing the results of procrastination and frustrated, but still a good sport, though later when the bonfire conversation went toward the apocalypse and celebrity takeover of politics, she tuned out with Words With Friends. Paul left early. Jenn showed up. I turned the projector to splash the visualizer on the wall of the house. Shaun kept the fire alive, his expertise, and found a plethora of kindling sticks on the other end of the yard. Daniel and Annie showed up. Jack came later. Definitely one of the more mellow bonfires, compared to the last two, reminiscent of the original bonfires. Better for conversation, even if our conversation was tinged with political negativity, corporate espionage and hopelessness for humanity. So goes the modern dialogue. We pushed the bonfire another thirty-forty minutes before smothering the flames and calling it a night.
New photos:
Portal 2 comes out tomorrow.
Today's tutoring gig involved getting kids to brainstorm and write a short story about an alien's adventure on Earth. Some, like Kevin, took to the assignment without hesitation, churning out two pages within the hour. Some, like Zion (and most others) resisted the idea, until one of us adults sat down with them and talked them through the creative process. Where did the alien land? What happened next? What did the alien look like? Did it have a name? A motive? How does the story end? Kids with plot-point outlines, spiderweb charts of ideas, some of them coming up with the most ridiculous storyline ever, some going for the happy endings, some going for stories of mass destruction. This was a class of seventh-grade boys, mind you. They were hard to keep on task. Some didn't get much farther than the brainstorming. But it was neat to listen to them create stories. It was inspiring to watch them think about what they, as a reader, would want to read. And even the most reluctant, like Zion, scrawled out a page of narrative before the hour's end, and it wasn't half bad. Sure it's a tad immature. Sure it's not a Pulitzer prize winner. But it's a result. It's imagination. It's something that starts on shaky legs and finds strength with practice. They'll figure that out one day. Until then, it's okay to be goofy. It's okay to be ridiculous. So long as they're writing. So long as they're trying.
Then Randall was absent, so I got to go home early.
Watched Rescuers Down Under outside as the bonfire caught with Paul, Shaun, Julie and Jenny. Purple clouds above, sans rain, thankfully. A nice night. Good fire. Happened upon Paul earlier and we got sandwiches at Mr. Pickles and talked about the flaws of hierarchy in the workplace. Got a little high and we ranted to Jenny about the flaws of eating ribs. Jenny was facing the results of procrastination and frustrated, but still a good sport, though later when the bonfire conversation went toward the apocalypse and celebrity takeover of politics, she tuned out with Words With Friends. Paul left early. Jenn showed up. I turned the projector to splash the visualizer on the wall of the house. Shaun kept the fire alive, his expertise, and found a plethora of kindling sticks on the other end of the yard. Daniel and Annie showed up. Jack came later. Definitely one of the more mellow bonfires, compared to the last two, reminiscent of the original bonfires. Better for conversation, even if our conversation was tinged with political negativity, corporate espionage and hopelessness for humanity. So goes the modern dialogue. We pushed the bonfire another thirty-forty minutes before smothering the flames and calling it a night.
New photos:
- Left to Fry
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