Your Mom

Once again, it’s late Sunday night and I’ve got a plate of procrastination piled high with more homework than I can possibly fit into my face like its some sort of all-you-can-eat assignment buffet for only $5 at Guyton Hall and I haven’t eaten in days … which is almost true. And am I doing it? Of course not; I’m fasting. Why work when you can blog?

Though I'd much rather be laying on a blanket beside Lake Patsy, feeling the minutes pass but not the moment, as the sun dips slowly below the tree-line ...

Video blog dos. My tie was not that short! According to Mrs. Cornelius, it was hobbit-sized. It was choking me though, and I’m pretty sure I can see my face getting several shades darker, from casper to barney, by the end of the period – that shirt is too damn small. I’m still wavering between some of those crucial classroom management questions, such as “to tie or not to tie”. Not quite comfortable in my costume yet.

You can watch me now … but I won’t stop now … ‘cause I cant stop now …

What else? … my mother (who, along with other mothers, was the topic of classroom humor all week) would love to hear me say this … “don’t mumble, marbles”. I tend to forget what I was saying mid-sentence sometimes, and then find myself not exactly talking but instead following my words through a forest of blank stares wherever they want to take me without any significant thought attached to them. Then I walk into a tree, or trip over the overhead cord, and wake up long enough to field a question on comprehension, generally mine. Maybe I should sleep at night, rather than run wind-sprints in the Ole Miss football stadium. Also con mumbles, slow down speed-talker. And I think that I do need to start off the year practicing some of my lesson plans before taking my place on stage, a dry run in the morning before my vanity mirror at home wearing nothing but boxers and sunglasses while munching on Berry Kix and chocolate milk. This will make my lesson plans run more smoothly, with a little flow, if I was . . . organized. Kix essential, of course.

Most important of all, get rid of the Lloyd Christmas and paint one of my classroom walls fuscia – it compliments my post-embarrassing moment blush perfectly.

Reminder: Kidnap RB and bring him up to Williams as the Black History Month keynote speaker, in conjunction with a blues circuit of local southern musicians who would play at Amherst and Williams, etc., as well as venues like the Ironhorse or other smaller bar’s in Western Mass. The first idea followed from Mr. B’s moving lecture and a showing of Lalee’s Kin, the second precipitated out of a night on the town where I bumped into the same guitarist that I had taken a cell-phone snapshot of playing his six-string on a dimly lit side street off of Bourbon a few months ago while Spring Break. Crazy, I’m thinking . . .

Spent an electic first night in Leland, sans water or power, with dancing candles replacing light bulbs and iced red wine filling the china. While shadows flickered on the wall behind us, AJ and I dined on a Sonic buffet, siped on the wine and smiled at one another in the dim candlelight. Despite all the discomforts of an evening without utilities, it was one of the best nights I've had in a while. I'm looking forward to Biloxi more than ever before ...

Stop looking at me swan.