9/9

Today I picked two of the so-far best-looking soybeans and boiled them. Yes, I boiled two beans. I didn't want to pick more in case they weren't ready, but the two I picked were definitely ready (though a little small) ... they were so tasty I couldn't believe I made them myself. Okay, so I didn't exactly make them, but I planted them and cared for them and they actually taste good, which is truly shocking to me. They were smooth and creamy tasting, no salt or garlic seasoning needed. I went right back outside and picked four more, and boiled and ate them. Hopefully I won't eat the entire batch this way, but they're so tasty, who knows.

9/11

After the world's most boring fac meeting yesterday, Eugene's Brother (and middle brother Devin) surprised me at work with a vanilla Pepsi. Before I get into that, let me just say that it is a stupid idea to reward fitness program participants with pizza parties. Getting back to E's B: he came to deliver a bubbly treat, he left with a job. Huh.

Today I had morning circle duty which wraps up near 8:45 which is just like 8:46 so I was in charge of the moment of silence for our classroom. After all the business and reading a little from this book we have about the Pledge of Allegiance (the Nun's suggestion), I told them we were all going to sit quietly for a little while and think about how we could all be nice to each other. Of course this was widely interpreted as "shout out all the ways you can think of to be nice to each other," which in itself was worth maybe more than a moment of silence in a pre-K classroom, but eventually they all got the quiet part and folded their hands and were quiet for 25 seconds (it seemed pointless to strive for a whole minute.) And they were nicer, too. Right after Kid Rock slugged another boy in the eye, he immediately gave him a big hug. Life goes on.

We went to Alan Wong's, because it's September 11 and although it will forever and always mean something else now, first it was an afternoon that two people scrambled into a car to get out of the rain and listen to some music. So, we celebrated that, by doing what we do best: eating. Curry chicken/crab lumpia highly recommended by me; ahi cake salad high on "to learn" list of E's B. Seafood bowl: very large, very good. I would say I can't believe I ate the whole thing, but actually it wasn't that hard. We finished with "the coconut" which was exceedingly sweet in a good way. Like a PC Quest song.

9/14

Wow, two emcee jobs this weekend. At least I got a free lunch out of one of them (Tong Chasing the Moon luncheon.) And a nice compliment too: behind my back someone said, "Watch out for her, she's going to be president." Of course right after that someone suggested that I go plan a picnic or something, so, you know, we're not there yet.

Anyway the weekend started off crappy. Friday afternoon the Nice Lady Next Door came over and wasn't so nice to me. She gave me a copy of a totally unfeasible floor plan that she drew "for us" because "everyone else begged her to." (Because after the six million changes we've already made, we're still too noisy it seems, yet, she really seems to be the only one it really bothers.) She basically told me that the teacher I'm subbing for is a slave to the NAEYC (national assoc for the education of young children) and that she follows all their regulations to a tee, and basically, that the NAEYC would not approve of our room at all. Well, the NAEYC recommends that all child care centers have at least 35 square feet of indoor space per child and 75 square feet of outdoor space, and do you think we can do anything about the fact that we barely have enough space for each child to take off their jacket without jabbing their neighbor in the eye with an elbow? No. Just like we can't do anything about the fact that the wall between the resource room and the preschool for some reason is full of large holes. Just like we can't use NAEYC-"sanctioned" methods for calming a tantruming child to magically quiet an autistic kid throwing a major tantrum when you are trying to teach math on the other side of the holey wall. What we can do is drag the furniture around every week, rearranging it for optimal safety and sound-blockage, but this disturbs the autistic kids who, as you pointed out though I already knew, depend on routine and sameness to feel safe in an environment. Why can't she just admit that she's bothered by all this stuff? I'd be much more open to talking about it if she'd stop blaming it on other people -- and they're no shrinking violets; I know they'd say something if they were truly disturbed. I mean, we still wouldn't be able to make less noise, but I'd be a lot kinder when someone sat me down and said all these unnecessary things, even if they were to throw in stuff like "by the way, you should get to work earlier in the mornings, because even though it's none of my damn business I think I am entitled to telling you what to do. For some reason. What is that reason? I don't know. I will now go piss up a rope."

I had to stop my LP roll to get that out of the way. That was so mean I'm no longer mad at the Nice Lady Next Door. Hope it lasts till tomorrow.

Oh yeah, we went to see "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" on Saturday. E's B didn't want to talk to me all the way home. Me, I loved it and ended up chattering to myself about it. It was a can of cheese, like a "flick" "shot, chopped and scored" by Robert Rodriguez should be. The (ex) bartender has only one eye, Johnny Depp has no eyes and wears cool T-shirts, Eva Mendes really looks like Gina Gershon, Antonio brandishes all manner of weapon in a way that can only be described as beautiful -- wide, sweeping arc of arm and way murderous eye. He throws guns around with insane panache. I still prefer the silently grinning Campa and Quino to his two new sidekicks, one of whom is a pre-mole-removal Enrique Iglesias. They do get some good lines off, though, like "I don't think, I drink!" E's B said the one-liners were the best part of "the whole stupid movie" and his favorite was something to the effect of "tell me what I want to know or I'll rip your eye patch off and skull-fuck you to death." For some reason Danny Trejo is in the movie and is someone different than he was in Desperado. But you know, coherence is overrated in a movie where a line like "Are you MexiCAN ... or a MexiCAN'T?" is followed by a straight answer from Danny Trejo: "I'm a MexiCAN!"