I had my third observation today, and of course, I forgot to do some rather significant things in my lesson plan. Like hand out previous class assignments. I never get to cover enough of the material i'd like to, but feel better when I ind out i'm not the only one who has this happen. My observation reviews have been OK, sorta what you would expect. I'm think I'm doing alright, though, overall...

This woman Annie Lopez is a local artist (or she at least lives here) who does some pretty cool work. I didn't get to see her show at the Bossa Nova, but you should check out her web page.

This was my first week of teaching consecutive lessons, a week that blew by . . . busy, stressful, fun, etc., but exciting because I was actually teaching. i thin some kids may have learned something, too. Me included.

The Weekend short version: Friday, out with Tony, met a gaggle of lesbians at the Tiki lounge out for a birthday, and they invited us to come hang with them. These girls sure talked a LOT about breasts and how much fun they can be, and made it readily apparent that they beleived this. they weren't the lipstick variety, but weren't gross either. In fact,s ome were kida cute. they liked when the bartender danced on the bar like a stripper and shook her little dishtowell mini-skirt. i think everyone enjoyed it. no nudity, though. That was later at Bar 11, when some girl (not one of the lesbians) decided she needed to show everybody her nipples. she was not buxom, but defintiely proud of her nipples.

*******************************

A poetry for today, by Mr. Claude McKay

Heritage

Now the dead past seems vividly alive,
And in this shining moment I can trace,
Down through the vista of the vanished years,
Your faun-like form, your fond elusive face.

And suddenly some secret spring's released,
And unawares a riddle is revealed,
And I can read like large, black-lettered print,
What seemed before a thing forever sealed.

I know the magic word, the graceful thought,
The song that fills me in my lucid hours,
The spirit's wine that thrills my body through,
And makes me music-drunk, are yours, all yours.

I cannot praise, for you have passed from praise,
I have no tinted thoughts to paint you true;
But I can feel and I can write the word;
The best of me is but the least of you.