So I don't believe in New Year's resolutions, though back when I used to write in red spiral-bound notebooks faithfull, I'd make resolutions every new notebook, and these resolutions were largely people-centered--what I wanted to do with regard to various friends of mine, usually just a matter of making more time for them all. But I'm getting in shape anyway, as the only real obstruction was the 3 hours spent each day on the subway, superfluously. With that in line, I'm set on most things.

Reading: I've finally started on Piri Thomas's Down These Mean Streets, and am working my way slowly through Lone Wolf and Cub, the latter difficult, sadly because I'm at Joephet's so much these days that I don't have access to my books. I have become much more cheap on books, which is perhaps foolish, as that niche has been replaced largely by eating out. I need to cook more, which will also be more possible once I finally get home before it gets too dark each night.

So I am still cooling down from a run, which again was difficult for me. I really should still be lifting, and then I should get going on my evening, which, while Joephetless, will perhaps let me at long last reunite with Diana, Diana of Miami, whom I've not seen in some years, even though she's now in the city, she in her Asian-fetishizing ways. It's hard to describe her. There's an organic energy about her, an enthusiasm, and a long-suffering-knowingness and perserverence. Strength, somehow, which is a difficult thing to come by in our soft corporate world.

So it's been a lazy day, which would make me feel bad for ditching Kean and Diana, except it's hard to feel anything but fuzzy when you're cozy with Joephet, whether it's shopping in a thrift store momentarily deluged by fellow fags (beige-bound, Latino-soft, or jocky) all of a sudden, all lined up in front of the counter-crone, or hanging out with Bets in yet another unfortunately placed restaurant. Our loot at the thrift store was only vaguely impressive, though there was a certain gangrene-green unicorn with white legwarmers which was two bucks and the new black sheep of Bets' collection, and a mug that says, "Eat at Whitey's." Most of the afternoon I spent going through NYC Bloggers and trying to identify the genders of the ambiguous neighborbloggers. So it's yet another day that I'm not able to actually leave Queens, or even get on the subway in the first place.

This evening, we've watched the Skulls II, and perhaps From Hell, as well as perhaps some Margaret Cho. It's just been that kind of lazy evening. I wish the Skulls sequel could have been more amusing. No neck-breaking provosts or anything. Oh, yes: Scary Movie was surprisingly funny last night, somehow. So much for high culture, I suppose--are there even new comics coming out tomorrow? Yesterday was sadly such a dry day, I'm afraid.

So I am just back from the middle-of-nowhere sushi place, full of good sashimi, a perfect top off to my first day of modified eating and extra, extra protein. I suppose I should list, a la Joephet, my exploits: ham and pepperjack on multigrain; protein shake in skim milk; Greek antipasto and donner sandwich; stracciatelli and tomato-basil-mozzarella sandwich; sashimi (maguro, salmon, and snapper) and pickings from Joephet and Lelaina's plates. So not a perfect start, but something, and I am making now more of an effort to eat at home.

Other forgotten nippings: GNC and haircut! Yes, I'm sadly shorn again, and I look 19, not 22 like I sadly now am. Beyond that, little more to report of today.

So now it's time for....

Asianboi roundup

Alric is not speaking. He's not speaking to me, as I, in my abrasiveness, have offended him. Judging by his blog, however, he seems to managing just fine, which makes me wonder--even though I miss him--is he just better off without me? I mean, he doesn't have any het-male friends in the city, so why bother with me?

Joephet is not dodging. Well, he's not as much as before. I feel as if he's giving me a chance, and I'd better not fuck it up. We're not quite in perfect synch quite yet.

Kean is not in Kansas anymore. He's not as I expected, and I am trying to see New York through his eyes now, as for him this is the relevant pilgrimage, and I am inured to most things, a creature of habits I am happy to share with the uninitiated.

Kenneth is not impressed. Mostly by the web, which he's been going to more these days now that his not-gay-but-gay friend is in town. I'd feel sorry for his boyfriend if I didn't already. (Are they boyfriends? Who's to say?)

Lostin is not here. He is in Korea, a well-earned break from American materio-capitalism. It's strange to think that I only know of how he's doing electronically, as we have never hung out at all in person since getting to know each other, and in many ways, he only knew the legendary, math-camp leading Drew.... not the newly marginally humble one.

Rob Chin is not coming. Well, this is not settled. Despite his new job offer and a good firm and start to his career, he's hesitant to join me in the world of work and responsibility, preferring instead to nip off to Honshu, or some such. I understand, but I'd rather have a sashimi-buddy.

Thai is not Thai. He is a chinaboi, and rather confused about where things are headed with his Hardy. I see him as a little brother in some ways, and I wish I could provide better, more serious advice. But it's not as if I'm not a newcomer to these things. It's just that, well, he and Hardy are in a sticky situation.

So it's been an asian day, and in a bit I will do the Asianboi roundup, with a new addition. Kean finally made it to New York, and so we lunched and munched on the usual Greek goodness and such, strange to give flesh at last to his familiar voice. He's currently staying in Manhattan in between a reverse-couple (older gaysian, younger whiteboi): they walk on the ceilings and wear shoes (but nice ones) on their heads. And then eventually, after a nice stracciatelli and cheesy salad with D on 31st, and some catching up in his relative newfound idleness and isolation, I was off (bladder full) to Manhattan, in that area near to Web to hang out with Thai, who'd had a traumatic and draumatic (hehe) day with Hardy, his troll du jour. That'll be covered in the Asianboi roundup.

But when we went to Bloomingdale's to pee, in the basement there was a rather hung black homeless dude who kept on lowering and replacing his pants and showing off his horsecock in the hallway leading to the bathroom... I imagine one of the clerks... "Sir... you're making it seen...."

So I was drug out of bed with Joephet (who was farting on me) this morning to the Igloo, the local bujii diner-smoothie-place for the first time ever, with D and his roommate and some random white guy, this after a year's worth of Alric wanting to try it, but me refusing. It wasn't so bad, and indeed D's roommate would have been Alric's type.... Asian, neat, youngish, artsy, correctly giggly, cultured, intelligent, incidentally lesbian. So that was pleasant though I excused myself from the party which followed, in favor of home, cleaning, and exercise.

So I finally did go for a jog, after at least a week, and it's been the jog that has given me the most burn for a long time, and I have no idea why it would hurt so much. I really need to get serious about good habits for when the schoolyear starts again.

So I dreamt last night that I was part of a runaway Nazi brigade who was tricked into becoming part of the American Propaganda Machine. I don't know what said brigade was doing approaching Manhattan, though.

It's been yet another sleepy day with Joephet, as we are just now getting ready to get going on our days. This would be killing me (and normally does), but on break, there is no rule against such sloth.

So I am the proud owner of a new, flat-screen Philips TV. It was Joephet's idea, of course, but I am pleased that I now have access, though it still remains to get a DVD player and all that other peripheral shite. Was this a good idea? It remains to be seen.

So Thai went on a date today (his first real one), and it was apparently change-your-pants great, and I'm blogging about it only because he can't. Kick ass! I haven't been on a great date since...

Well, earlier tonight, when I was downing half a large Asahi and chirashi like there was no tomorrow. Nothing better than a simple Japanese meal with a beautiful boy you love... I really appreciate him, and it's been a great coupla days, sleepy as they have been (1530 hours today, for instance).

So I am a cyborg now. Today, I got a phone call from D, who is now living with some Korean-Hawaiian girl not four blocks from my house, and so we were reunited to multiple games of chess, schleps in the park, checking out his digs and his music (R. Crumb and his band), and all that great catching-up shit, as he's again a bachelor after leaving his wife and all that, it's good to catch up, and strange to think I used to see this guy everyday last year, every school day, at least, with all that Chinatown stuff now well behind us, and so much lost from last year, something I think of as a little as I do college, as these days I tend not to think back very much at all, more to the near future, which is now no longer the case, as the near future involves going back to school--no, the point is, this was a well-overdue reunion and turned an otherwise drab day of physical fitness and muttering with Thai about his date tomorrow into something much more vital, involving the legitimate consumption of leg of lamb and frantic frying up of edamame, etc. And at some point I became a cyborg. A Christmas cyborg. This is all very exciting, even though we have a full-house under this roof, of three separate Christmases. Also now enjoying Box Office Poison, and planning to rereading most of Lone Wolf and Cub. Sadly, however, little progress on my homework...

So I woke up today to a nightmare (students on a field trip chasing each other, romantically, through traffic), and an empty bed, Joephet having left early for some reason for his gramma's, and me left alone again on Christmas. Well, that's not quite accurate... a year ago... well, let's not talk about a year ago... hehehehe. But I need to finish this interview project today, and I ought to work out and do some cardio for once, again. This house also needs some cleaning, I suppose. But it's nice to feel fully refreshed, for once.

So today has been quite lazy, which is well-earned given that I finished yesterday by escorting my kids all the way up to Magic Johnson theaters (where the butter comes with a free dose of T-cells), to rewatch the Lord of the Rings, discovering no moments worth reviewing or revisiitng at all. I mean, Elijah Wood topless is so fucking unimpressive. So it was at least a pleasant walk in the park before dismissal and running to the boricua place one last time before meeting Joephet for a pleasant walk down to Chinatown for yet more Malaysian food before some dumpling/Shantou vinegar shopping. I was introduced to the Gilmore Girls, but I don't think they remember me. Hrmm... then it was just an early bedtime and sleep, on-and-off, till now, despite a lost blog post and all that. Stupid blogger.

So I met Thai today and we chatted rather extensively about bric-a-brac, or so it might have seemed, and it's hard to pinpoint the youth, the set of values and naivetes I once held, the hesitations and the anticipations, which of course I say with a laptop precariously perched on my lap as I cozy up under a duvet with Joephet who's reading X-Men Vol. 1 raptly, possibly later making me a sandwich and bag lunch like he did today, which is wonderful, ridiculous-wonderful, a bigger milestone than the home-base I vulgarly outlined for Thai today. But it's nice to be reminded of the almost-organic stages of development in the natural history of the gaysian, not that I'm some highly evolved form--perhaps my bitterness is merely refined, or maybe reduced to glace du viand, or some other such foreign expression, as I had to exercise mi espanol hoy, porque hay padres quienes solamente hablan espanol... Ugh. I'm an embarassment in that way. So I don't want to embarass or identify Thai any further, but it's nice to see the parallel histories, though of course parallel lines end not at all or in different points.

So eventually I end up with Joephet and Lelaina at the usual Thai restaurant, rather expensive though it may be, and later on a quest for ripe bananas and dumplings, managing to at last buy my first copy of Men's Health. Ugh. What am I turning into? But it is time for a new exercise regimen yet again. This must be a good time to start...

One more tomorrow, and then I'm free, though it's not clear what I'm free to do. I do look forward to Kean's visit, and seeing more of Kenneth and his comically gay friend, chilling more with Thai and cuddling with Joephet. Amazing to think that a year ago I only had one gaysian in my life, though he didn't know it then, and doesn't even acknowledge it now...

So I have just purchased my first issue of GQ, part sop to Joephet's sartorial demands, part surrender to Orlando Bloom's enthusiastic good looks. I have been lazy and unproductive, hanging out with Rob Chin and downing Coronas enthusiastically, though as a result missing Kenneth's debut at the Web. Rob Chin and I found an excellent cheap Malaysian restaurant, and were in search of MahJong. Beyond that, little to report of the past few days, as I've done so little in terms of reading and otherwise, which hasn't kept my library books from becoming more and more overdue, even as we sit.

So I've not been a very good blogger, but now I'm clearlyhomefree, even though I had to endure my kids asserting vehemently that P. Diddy has done things to make Harlem what it is today. Apparently he gives money to charity. Which would probably tbe the same money he takes from the community after paying Hondurans nothing to make his lines of clothing and music. You can't spell "insipidity" without "P. Diddy," after all.

Today was thoroughly pleasant after lunchtime, because I just didn't let my kids get to me. Amazing how simple the rest of your day becomes once you do that. After a tour of the Harlem Museum, with my kids complaining all the way there that they didn't want to walk around their hood with a Chinaman looking like a freak, wearing a commissar hat ("what's a commissar?") and two scarves, and little else--of course, at the same time, it's kind of frightening to pop up in everyone's semantic network when it comes to "China." I ran off, and despite some confusion, ended up eating a light dinner (Anago! Mini Don!) with Rob Chin, who has gotten an offer from Goldman, and whom I hope will work there next year, as I can always use more Chins (though not more chins...). I barely felt the large Asahi, and the sober-up coffee. Rob Chin was so happy it was great. Sigh. He deserves it, and I had no marxist complaints.

Despite a bad train delay, I ended up with Joephet for the Return of the King, which was adequate, even though there was a bit too much color commentary from our audience neighbors, and not enough Orlando Bloom. Damn Elves! I don't know if I've done the entire homo-reading of the Lord of the Rings, yet, but at the risk of repeating myself, Sauron is a big evil flaming floating vagina who threatens the world of men, with his power localized in a ring, which, when put on, renders men invisible to other men (but not to Evil), while they all fight orcs (who are actually played by women in those rubber suits, strangely enough) to save men for themsleves, though the smooth Teutonic Elf-twinks do their best to help (they tend not to get along so well with the mini-bear-dwarfs). That and the fact that evil Muslim-Hindus are riding elephants of doom, in league with the junk-sailing Chinese mercenary pirates. I won't even try to figure out where all the black people are. Or the commie-nazis.

So now I'm back home with my Joephet in tow, having munched on late-night potsticking veggie dumplings. It's a beautiful life, to have a boy waiting for you. And this weekend is shopping time! I want to make paper lanterns! But, I also need some sundries from Chinatown, as I plan to cook more over break, something that's been sorely missing since Alric and Jon moved out.

So I have not been blogging, but I've not been complaining either, so this is a good thing. Currently blogging from a thin sliver of a screen at Joephet's, happily lounging in new and sexy underwear. Ha. That boy thinks of everything. Done with classwork, I am ready to coast through tomorrow's field trip and enjoy my weekend of petty commerce, snuggling, and Gore Vidal, whose novel which he wrote while about my age I'm now enjoying, even though there's not a gaysian in sight.

Beyond that, little to report, I suppose. More interested in Joephet than in blogging, which is not a bad thing, even though I really rather loused up a lot of my final projects due to extreme procrastination and generalized sloth. Lord of the Rings! Beyond that, just trying my best to not giggle at Joephet and Lelaina as they fill out a Sanrio comment card bitchily.

I really appreciate him. I don't know that it's love-love, in the sort of terminal het-bujii way, but it's good and stable, and saning.

So now I'm overstuffed on my own goodness, from my cooking, though leftover from Sunday night's exertions, with a project to finally tie up, but not much else to really sweat about.

... So overstuffed I went and took a three hour nap, from 10 to now. It's crazy, but perhaps typical of my life. What can ya do?

So I am unproductive, having been dragged into a Joephetian mini-vortex of sloth. But highly pleasurable, and it turns out the work I have to do for my final project for writing class is not all that much. But still, it's a drain, along with fabricating yet more journal entries.

My students are bloodthirsty little buggers--I had to quiet them down repeatedly this morning as they were discussing various gruesome, but somehow deserved they claimed, fates for Mr. Saddam, all involving some sort of dismemberment, or at least just having his feet removed. I forget the further details, sadly, as I was trying to teach a math class. It still looks like they captured Moses by mistake.

So I am still lazy, retyping old lesson plans I wrote up expressly for the purpose of applications last year, and about to reread my personal mission statement in education. That sorta thang. It's depressing, that I can only write lesson plans on demand.

Today has been lazy, mostly napping and taking in the news and all that. I made dinner for a Joephet who has yet to arrive.

Ah, yes. My roommate Errol had a turtle for dinner. And not as a guest.

Meanwhile, I reread Green Lantern, Dragon Lord, which is about a Green Lantern who is yellow. And this is funny because the power of the Green Lantern does not work on yellow objects (why not red?). So it's hard to see how this Dragon Lord fella would be superpowered at all. But aside from a large quantity of incongruous Zen nonsense and an evil Emperor for who some reason eats grubs and worms and maggots and such, and of course the patriarchal oppression and commodification of women, and an evil scarred general, who bears more than a passing resemblance to the evil Klingon General Chang (who himself is inexplicably a starship captain), the only remarkable moments are unthrusting Chinese sex on a magical green flying carpet.

So you're probably not hearing it here first, but they're saying they've captured Saddam. I wonder if, like with most things, they'll forget. Though, given the hour, I doubt it's purely made up--closer to Christmas would have been better. I can only wonder--would they have made an announcement on the P. A. if this had happened during school hours?

So I am recently back from The Last Samurai, which is pretty fucking remarkable, as usually all the Asians die so that only a white man is left to tell the tale. Now, this is not to say that the movie is an irredeemable mess: nothing wrong with some bloody battling, as long as it's stage-blood. But does the Emperor really hafta be an effeminate mess with unattractive facial hair? I mean, I was wedged between the usual Latino streeters and a trio of Jap-os, so my viewing experience was strange--the nips giggling at mud being trailed into the room by gawkward white boots, and the Latinos laughing at the Emperor, who was the more laughable for trying to be forcible. Somehow the famous last-berating scene has a gay reading--short white imperializer-turned-good convinces gaysian to end his flirtation with Western guns and heavy artillery... And all this misses the point, as it's as anti-historical as Gladiator, sort of neglecting the tiger of Japanese imperialism unleashed upon the entire continent.

The lead-in to my evening was pleasant, as I wandered bujii Manhattan with Joephet. Which wasn't so bad, really, though sticker-shock dogged me. I had no idea people could spend so much money on this shit. But Joephet was amused, and that was enough for me. I think he finally got enough sleep, and so wasn't all bitchy, as he can sometimes be. Or maybe I was just nicer to him. Hard to tell.

My bro was in today briefly for some Greek food before taking off again. Home again, home again, diddly dee. A good chunk of work yet left, and no blankets or other good-warmness bought, but so it goes.

So today has been lazy, with very little aside from rereading comics actually accomplished. It's hard to say what else there will be today, though I suppose I actually need a new blanket, or something. Probably what I really need is a new scarf, as the old one I keep on leaving at school: and it's acrylic, which is cheap and warm and all, but not very bujii. And I figure I can be bujii about my accessories, as time was, my hat would be worth as much as the rest of my outfit...

Some reminders about comics--Iron Man gets his start (and meets his black friend Jim Rhodes, aka War Machine, one of the few black superheroes in the universe, unless you count Jackson King) in Vietnam, fighting the evil Vietnamese despot Wong Chu. It's amazing what blacks and whites can accomplish when they cooperate to kill an entire rocket-base of gooks. And of course, he has the wonderful line, "Its going to take a stroke of genius to get out of this mess... I'd better start stroking" while strapped to the front of a laser which will blow him up if he makes so much as a false move. It was much nicer, though, back in the Cold War days when the enemies were white Russian spies and Soviet KGBers than today, when we have indeterminately dark enemies, also opposed, however, to white capitalist exploitation. Hrm...

So it's been a drunken evening already of misdirection, where I've been unwittingly rerouted several times by oversleeping my stops, though this let me actually get comics and sleep off some of the boozery. But I'm glad I have a warm bed now to retire to.

So I can't help but reproduce the following memo from our school, which was written not by a halfwit Chinaman, but our fearless leader:

All 5th Period teachers are to escort their class down to the gym located on the first floor everyday. Prepare classes to be escorted and live the rooms starting at 12:25PM. This will allow amply time for you to delivery students safely to the gym and start your lunch period on time.

Thank you for your cooperation.

So a piece of tile fell down in my classroom today, from the ceiling, though it hit no one. This is not a good sign, Chicken Little.

I am beginning to think I want to stick with this teaching thing long enough to become a principal. Not that I have the charisma or the inches, but it's a start, I think. I forget how young I am. But my youth is the youth of opportunity, not the agedness of 15, which one of my students today reached, and I find it difficult to remember where I was at 15, though I think that year I wrote the first of my letters-to-self on my birthday that year--I'd just moved from the city where I'd grown up into a new bujii-Jew neighborhood of strangers and fucks. I felt completely undercut and was severely alienated from the parents whom I blamed for my dislocation, and so devoted myself to doing well in school and being an alienated little Chinaman. And staring at whitebois. Ugh. This was also the beginning of the downhill slide in my interest in my physique, abandoning the smooth abs of early high school into the current shrinking gut. A shame, all that. But what can one do, really?

So I am in a relatively clear stretch now. Education class pretty much done. Little pressure left. I'm just funna coast now. Dinner with Joephet. It's nice to have this mini-reward before the remainder of my week.

So, I having been told that I was a perfectionist today, I rebutted, "No.. I'm much more of a correctionist."

And this I think will be the title of a novel or a mini-comic strip. Though it's riffing too much off of the Whitehead and the Coelho.

So some wayward thoughts on philosophy of mind, though that is perhaps a high-falutin' way of putting it. In ed class we've been told about concept-images, the characteristic tokens of concepts, where concepts are to be understood, I think, as types, so that we have these are mental tokens of mental types, I think, though the presenters have not made this very clear. I am of course skeptical, as no presenter has made it clear why this distinction is important, why it may lead to error, though of course I can think of a few reasons why having a concept-image of a car only with its wheels on the ground might be misleading, the old Wittgensteinian problems with ostentive definition, ('he will suppose that "two" is the name given to this group of nuts!', Section 28 (heheh) --Which nuts?--These nuts.). Of course, my concept-image of a car is not made bit by bit by un-unionized victims of globalization, so maybe I'm completely off base here. It's just not clear how we can go by behavior to make conclusions about these concept-images, it'll all depend on the cues ("Draw a rectangle" versus "Picture a rectangle in your head. [ouch! At least it's not pointy!] Now, draw it [meaning a representation of it]"). But this is just needless skepticism, as of course we should look at the point, the use, of such a distinction, which surely must exist. Just not in my head.

I say this because of course I don't think the way I write or speak, or in any particular language. It's mostly colors (earth tones these days) and furrowings. I, for instance, do not think thoughts like, "Andro-het bujii-imperialism permeates homosex hierarchies." No, complaining about whitey keeping me from getting laid is what bloggin and talkin're for.

So Joephet has been cut off from the wireless network someone in his building has, and so he has no way of even communicating this fact via his blog this evening. It's a shame, and I don't know if this is a general effort against wireless pirating, or whether someone's caught on to Joephet in particular.

So I hate how blogger sometimes loses your posts. I was just moaning about the crush of service changes, though. And capitalism. So no big loss.

A lot of footwork to do tonight, with little motivation. It's turning to a bigger and bigger crapshoot at work. But there is little that we can do at this point.

I am being briefer than I was, as it's only worth moaning about once.

So I have accomplished very little, I suppose. Well, it was necessary: dinner with Joephet last night at the Japanese restaurant around the corner, and then we came back and pretty much fell asleep around 8 or 9 through until this morning. I really can't complain, except in how that overloads my work for my math ed class all into tonight, and leaves me without any way of reteaching that lesson yesterday which while satisfactory for lay observers is still far short mathematically. Sigh.

Yesterday I had to pull out the teacher-voice. And patrol the halls. Apparently there are also massive contractual and scheduling issues to be worked through. It's going to be a long year. But, for now, I am strangely refreshed on way too much sleep.

Oh, yes. Joephet claims to have made up entire statutes for his criminal law final. I wish I could be shocked. :) Cutiepie.

So I am blah blah blah. I have a lesson plan to do for tomorrow when I will be actually rather overloaded by observers, and I have all manner of other minor administrative tasks to take care of tonight, and projects to complete for college, but I am not able to motivate to get any of it done at all. Instead, I've been reading my Tom Wolfe, my Anita Brookner, and killing time until I can plausibly go to dinner at the usual Chinese store. It's been a drab weekend, which could have been much cozier. Next weekend my bro comes for a bit, so I'll hafta straighten up the place. Hard to believe he's already done with his schoolyear.

It's not that I'm unhappy--I know what that feels like all too well. It's just that I think I've reoriented myself enough so that school defines who I am, what I do: I feel energized only during the week, and on the weekends vege out, even though I have more than enough time, objectively speaking, to get done all that I need to. Instead I let that time dribble away. I only feel better when I roll in there Monday morning, full of piss and vinegar, swigging coffee and mouthwash, a latter-day pirate of math education.

So you can only imagine what a snowball fight with Joephet is like--really more of his side like flinging snow as if it were sand on a beach--punctuated with a squeal. Still, not a bad thing.

Yesterday a schoolday where the kids were aching to do some of their own fighting in the snow, and where there was plenty of fighting in the school as well, with one of the terminal kids getting his lip busted. Hrmm... then a pleasant lingering and grazing after school on mexican food, this after having to wait far too long during the day as I had an unexpected coverage. Eventually, reunited with Alric and Rachel and haggis in Midtown before heading to nestle with Joephet. Or try, at least. Not much else to report, other than snuggly whether in which I will curl up and read.

So I am tired and done with class--I love the freedom of Thursdays, the cash-and-carry of buying new clothes only in order to sleep over with Joephet. I am exhausted. Demoralized utterly, unable to make the phone calls I need to, happy only because I can lose myself in Joephet and hang out otherwise. It's a tiring life, this, and I don't know why I feel as if I am on such a depletion cycle. Maybe it's just me, or the winding down of the semester.

So I am confronted by absurdities.

The most awkward of my students--breath stinky, nose with viscous-snot-gummy, hair mishighlighted and mistipped, color coordination from the one-eyed bats, low self-esteem, cantankerous, unproductive, slow-witted--has submitted to me a recommendation letter to write for her application to Choate. Shit.

Her inchoate (heehee) sense of self would not be well-served by mingling with whitey. So I find myself saying things like, "Your [black, street] behavior would not be appreciate by your [white, or at least upper-classed, genteel, soft, bujii] classmates at [white] Choate." We must remember, after all, that the need to lift up some blacks should not be confused with an actual commitment to the welfare of human beings. Of course, it's not that Choate is evil (of course not, Bessie), it's just that at one point a certain math camping Queerfoot was teaching there, and it's just another universe. Or in the words of Barry Mazur, I doubt that my student could build a bridge between those two worlds... those two worlds are on different planets!!!

But I suppose we are all permitted our escapisms.

Oh, yes. In a violence prevention seminar we are asked to "Diffuse tense situations."

So I am tired and at Joephet's for the first time in ages, it seems. It feels good and comfortable, even though I got a B today! Ouch! Sigh. Not much else to say, I suppose: I am just going to sleep and enjoy my relative freedom the rest of this week before college crunch time rolls in again in the form of all those final projects. And welcome back, Lily. I've missed Joephet's bitchiness.

So I been lazy since getting home. Rereading Hitchens on the Clintons, getting ready to break out the commissar hat tomorrow. It's cold, and was flurrying when I was walking from subway to school, but has since been merely windy. I am tired.

So there was no telling what? :)

So I did go for that run. I bought a toothbrush yesterday that's damned bujii. How bujii is it? Well, it's so bujii the handle is so big it wouldn't fit in my hole.

Ummm... for too big for my toothbrush hole.

Pervs.

I feel good. I"m lifting more now, even. Sigh. A long hard slog.

So I am just back from school, and I am tired, but will probably try to go for a run --two consecutive days?? As I thought, I was much more energetic today than last night late at night would have led you to believe... Mondays after breaks are always like that for me, and the hard part of my week is over with... And it was payday. It's just a shame that one of my ninth graders, one with a severe temper problem, thinks he can be a dad on $10,000 a year. Sigh. Well, what can you say to that? Well, plenty. And that's tomorrow's task. The talk.

I hate the new hotmail interface. It's so... gay...

Priceless comment by Joephet, after he points out he'll be actually attracted to me in ten years when my skin is hard and I point out that my skin is all nice and soft, "If I wanted soft skin, I'd just touch myself!"

And that's all there is to understand about Joephet.

Well, not quite. But damned close.

So, some more email cleaning (damn, I was very socially active in March....) and then it's off to see if I can run. Ugh.