Location: St. Vincent & Grenadines

You were driving home in the dark on one glass-slippered heel, window sliced open and bathing in the snowliquor of the night air. We heard you singing, and couldn't bear to wake you.

22 October 2005

The weather changes about halfway between your house and mine.

Three things:

1. We had lunch at a Mexican restaurant today, and I decided to be adventurous and try something new. I had the birria de chivo, which BabelFish claims means "birria of I inform" but actually has more to do with pot-roasted goat meat. Ever have goat? I have. It's greasy, gamy, gelatinous, and full of fascinating bone chips that add a special "surprise" element to the eating process. ¡Vamos al menudo! (BabelFish translation: "we go to the slight one".)

2. I will now share with you the horrible song that has been running through my head, inexplicably, all day long. Cue Peter Cetera:

Hoowillfight foryer onnah!
I'll be the heeeerow that you're dreamin' uuh-uv!
Gunnaliv fo-ureva-ah!!
Knowin' toogeh-thuh thatawee
Didit awul fo' the gloooreee of luuuvv!!!!!!

3. I don't know why I'm even writing this (okay, yes I do) when I have more than 200 projects to grade this weekend. I set myself up. I created a book report unit where each student had to do 70 points' worth of assignments by a deadline, and in order to make it to 70 points most of them had to do between four and seven things, and of course they all turned them in at the last possible minute, so now I'm swamped. And the quarter ends in two weeks. And everyone wants to know what their grade is, but if I tell them now it won't reflect the massive amount of work I haven't graded yet, which means I'd be a fool to tell them, because whatever they've got now may change drastically by the time I finish this monster.

So yeah. Life of a Chicago-haunted, goat-sucking English teacher with bad habits. Like blogging and watching Six Feet Under with the wife instead of wading through stacks of adolescent brilliance. (And it is brilliant, most of it. That helps. These kids are amazing.)

¡Vamos a la tarea!


Blogger Wesley said...

1. Well, it's hard for him to say he's sorry... but after all that you've been through, he will make it up to you, he promise[s] you.

2. I'm missin' my Mexican food, but that goatbone mash sounds ny-asty.

3. You can't spell procrastination without rasta. (I don't know what this means.)

5:02 AM  
Blogger Wesley said...

Dude, your comment counter is wack.

10:01 AM  
Blogger Felix Helix said...

Dude, Peter, make it up to me and all of humanity by stabbing yourself a million times in the larynx with a jagged fragment of goat femur, live on the radio, which would be so much less painful for the rest of us to hear than if you uttered another goddamned word ever again.

Jagged Fragment. Now that's a band name. Not frickin' "Chicago".

7:54 PM  
Blogger Wesley said...

Mick Jagged fragment?

4:33 AM  

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