9 July 2002 - 8:42 p.m.

Why is it that I'm living for the weekends?

Oh, yes. It's because I'm a career student, and career students do not enjoy regular workweeks.

Career students are not necessarily the best people to teach young children.

It's not that I don't like young children. Well, there are young children I don't like, but overall, I am enjoying working with them. I just can't sentimentalize them, think of them as full of potential for growth or as little rays of hope or anything like that. On their worst days, they are short people. On their best days, they are still short people.

Are some people rad? Yes, and a number of my students are rad as hell. However, I know several are just going to grow up to be total dicks, and I feel a bit dishonest trying to play the "firm but fair" game with them when what I really ought to do is tell them what they're going to turn out like if they're not super careful.

Take the uncooperative Chinese boy who is a very good writer, but can't seem to get started on an activity without calling it "ridiculous" 10 or 15 times. Today he inturrupted quiet work time by hurling a piece of paper to the floor and crying, "The paper is evil!" His letter to his penpal consisted of "I don't want to be your penpal, but I am forced to. This is a nightmare!"

What I would like to say to him is: 1.) No one likes a conspiracy theorist and 2.) If you think this is a nightmare, wait till you hitt he real world.

Then there's the girl who doesn't like to do anything. She likes to lounge provocatively on tables, take long bathroom breaks, and complain about how hard it is to write a friendly letter, and how weird it is to have a penpal witht he same last name. If I could, I'd also ask her mother to purchase her some sensible clothes, as camp ought not to be a runway for the modeling of coordinating tank tops, jean shorts in any color but blue, and of course, matching 'do rags. (Can anyone guess what my least favorite accessory is?)

What's in store for her: I would guess poor grades, until she gets to high school, and dates all the nerds so she can copy their homework. I can see her going to nursing school, finding a husband, and ballooning up. Her grammar will never improve much over what it is today.

I used to be quite fond of an undersized boy who resembled a miniature Woody Allen, but now that he has responded to my writing prompts every day with "I don't exactly want to do this" EVERY DAY for the past two weeks, I've tired of him. The idea that repetition with the help of adverbs will inspire me to accomodate his urges to write unneccesarily violent Harry Potter fan fiction every day is absolutely absurd. Of course, I make him complete the excercises anyway without too much difficulty - I'm bigger than all of the kids, and much bigger than him - but if he goes into his whole "exactly" song and dance tomorrow, I might snap and reveal my prediction that he will score with maybe one-tenth, tops, of the number of women Woody Allen scored with. It's a lewd thought, but it will come true.

So, while I must cope with other typical instances of bad behavior, these are my interesting problem children, or problem children who might just as well be problem adults. I hope they amuse you as much as they annoy me.

If not, you can always offer your opinion on whether spinich and brown rice quiche is what I should serve for dinner tomorrow. Picture it: Pittsburgh. Tomorrow night. Quiche with no crust, but a cup of brown rice is baked right into the quiche. More healthy? Or more ass? You decide.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: