kid logic

mothers should never ask their children to transfer information. it's like that game of telephone, but worse. there is no way that children are going to consciously serve on the side of establishment. it's playground law. don't rat on your friends, and don't be the teacher's pet.

for example, a call at midnight.
"joy, your brother is still not home. tell him to come home."
"why don't you to tell him to come home?"
"just...call him!"
"ok, i'll call him."
"tell him he cannot do this to me! tell him that he is wrong!"
"i'm calling him."
(dialing)
"dude...where are you?"
(brother provides location)
"ok, mom wants you to go home."
"do you think i should go home?"
"actually, i think you should stay out and make the woman suffer. but that's probably the wrong answer."

so the kid went home. but, do you see what i mean?

the things we do

i told my mother i wasn't feeling well, so she made an appointment for me. with an "electrode machine."
"mom, why am i doing this?"
"because the machine will test your organs."
"my organs?"
"yes, your organs."
"ok...hold on. why are we testing my organs?"
"because then you will know what organ is the problem!"
"um..." i wanted to know why my organs were a problem in the first place but lacked the stamina. "...how much is this costing me?"
"it is free!"
free didn't make it any better. "mom, i have to go."
"ok...ok...but thursday?"
i've been scheduled for a free electrode test that will irrevocably determine the health of my various organs. right. why is it free? i'm envisioning electrodes fashioned from chewing gum... but most of all, why can't the woman just let me die in peace?

journal entry

Supposedly, you have become a good writer when your pain actually represents the pain of the entire world and when the masses can cluster around your book/essay/whatever and emit collective groans of, "Ohhhhhhhh, I know exactly how that feels...." while you, the writer, lean back with your foot against your stove ( i.e. your book) and think, "Well, my work here is done." Oh Art, Art and her sister Catharsis.

I don't do Art so much. But I'd still like to write.

wife of frankenstein

my face is frozen because i just had two cavities filled, and this morning i woke up in my own bed and wondered how i got there.
i miss my left nostril. consider it a metaphor.

personal response

it's been a week since zidane's head-butting incident, and everything that wanted to be said about how zidane's actions were understandable, if not excusable, has already been said.

the only thing left for me to muse upon is something tangential. to me, it is fascinating to think that an entire history of social, political, and individual struggle can be enacted in a single physical gesture. i think of this as a text that will be unpacked for years, though it was "just" a soccer game. it says something to me about the impotence of our words when, in my opinion, our most recent "great" statement on racism is zidane's head making contact with his opponent's chest, during a game of soccer.

from an english III student

Dear Ms Tang,

First of all I want to know how are you? How is this summer? I hope that you are enjoying this summer.... Well, Ms I only want to tell you that I miss you, and that you are a great teacher and it was a pleasure having you as my English teacher. Well, it was really nice knowing you!!! I wish you all the luck in the world and I hope all your dreams come TRUE!!!! So, bye and take care Ms. Good luck with everything in CA.

Your student who will always remember you