Wednesday, October 30, 2002

I write this from a gym teacher's office at Kishwaukee Elementary School, a lovely old brick building in south Rockford. I am teaching physical education today. A whistle hangs on a light switch near the door. I will not use it. There are a lot of Asian students at this school. An ethnic neighborhood nearby? It would be interesting to know the racial geography of Rockford. Cultural stories interest me. And all too often (I am sounding a bit politically correct) racial minority issues get overlooked.

Last night at St. Mary's Place was a fiasco. I sucked pretty bad, couldn't remember the lyrics to my new song, and messed up the timing and chords on the others. No one applauded or even recognized my existence. When I arrived, alone, the clientele was a bunch of hard scrabble factory workers finishing up their dart league. By the time I was leaving, a younger, hippie druggie crowd showed up. I fit in with neither. Rockford hippie types are like, you know, so blah and boring. I overhear their conversation and deem them dummies.

I couldn't play my own guitar and had to use an electrical guitar provided by people who host open stage. It is difficult to tune and the strings are raised high above the fretboard. Plus, I was just nervous and apprehensive because of Goat Boy's condemnation of the place before I even arrived. It was not a total loss. I was out of there by 11 p.m. and only spent $1 on a draft beer. Tonight it is back to Lungo's Landing for another attempt. Don't know if I'll make it. I'm pretty tired after going to bed so late and waking up at 5:45 a.m.

Today after work I will finish my public safety story for Clint and the gang at the BDN and then crash out for a couple hours, hopefully. Probably not. I don't nap well.

Gym class memories:

I was always good at dodge ball, using other classmates as shields and strategically striking when someone else wasn't looking. It baffled the bigger stronger students that scrawny old me managed to win so often. When it came down to one on one I waited for the other person to throw and before they could recover their footing BAM!

I remember square dancing and Tina ??? had the clammiest hands. And she made fun of me because my hands are so dry. Better than all wet and nasty. I remember her acting all lovey-dovey towards me during square dancing, but only as a joke. In sixth grade, I was put in charge of the equipment room and had to make sure all the balls were collected. I stole balls by kicking them over the fence into the pit and then picking them up after school. Mom always made me bring them back.

Well, back to the hoarding, snot-nosed masses.

No comments: