Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Gavel Postcard for Florence Avenue on a Rainy-Day Morn

Just got into work and brushed up on fellow blogs.It's raining sheets of static precipitation outside and I got soaked trying to circumnavigate around Noah's zoo while walking en route to the library. I really want to read this morning--I love reading when it rains outside-- but, duh, I left my satchel back at the crib. Work is tedious. We just got a new librarian and half of my summer hours have been axed. (!) In dire need of ingetsing copious amounts of caffeine in order to keep my eyelids from flapping south.

Cubs won big time last night! I think my boys in Detroit could win it tonight. I know, nothing like climaxing about sports when you're engaged in a "trialougue" with two beautiful women. I'm actually a basketball-freak. "H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A/ shizzle on my nizzle used to dribble down in VA " Something like that. I tutor Bradley Braves basketball players during the school year. "Jabbar, head out of your ass and in the books brother." Beautiful giants. They limp around campus as if they just got shot in their achilles and when they see me they shout out my first name and give me a long complicated gangsta handshake and make me feel like I'm part of the team. It's really special in a way.

I used to teach english at an Alternative junior high and High school. (Alternative meaning the kids were expelled from the district or had pending court cases) It was the worst job ever. I got paid shit and got cussed out and hit every hour and once--right after my father's death, a 17 year old 250 pound seventh grader named Marcus with leather thick skin and John Henry bones fell off his desk and broke my leg. Real funny, only problem was that the hospital--the same hospital where my dad capitulated his earthly rug only two weeks before--took x-rays and misdiagnosed it as gout(?) So for ten days I'm limping around the hallways thinking I have gout, walking with this cane. When I did finally get a valid diagnosis and got a cast my students drew gang signs and vulgarities on the side of my leg and Sherita, my precocious little angel, even wrote me a Valentine stating that, "Muster V.B., you is so ugly." Even when I'm crippled she refuses to write proper english.

Teaching was sometimes fun though. I'd always get in trouble with the district for doing crazy things. They got pissed off because I was using rap lyrics to teach the parts of speech. "Circle the conjunctions, Snoop....With my mind on my money and my money on my mind." Oh well, the kids learned for once. One time a student called me a "Snow-Cone-head-camel-breath-looking-mug" and I made the entire class compose short-stories where the antagonist was a "snow-cone-head-camel-breath-looking-mug" ahhh...teaching is such an arduous profession.

Kids are crazy. I was walking home from the library just last week when one of my former students (she's in 8th grade now) flagged me down. She was driving a car and she was only 13!!!!

"Use needs a ride, Mistuh Vee-Bee?"

"Trina what the hell you doing driving a car?" I said.

"Picking mies mom up fromsuh work. I can give use a ride if use like."



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