I broke my woodburner doing it, but I was still excited to find that I could engrave/melt records and that I could cut/melt them into squares and drill/melt holes in the side to allow for stitching. It makes the edges weapon-like, but those can easily be sanded down with an electric sander. The sander is also capable of rounding the corners.

I, of course, don’t follow directions very well, so my stitching will frighten most any legitimate bookmaker. But I kind of like it.

I finally decided that I will teach those apprenticeship kids how to make their own sketchbooks and then every week, I will show them a new process. We’ll go out that first day and pick out our covers from the cardboard boxes that have been thrown out, curbside. Brooklyn trash contains the best boxes and have the coolest vegetable and fruit and soy prints that cover them.

I’ve been warned that introducing middle school kids to box cutters and x-acto’s and stitching needles can be dangerous, but I figure I’ll just kick them out if they start stabbing each other.

I don’t know if it’s illegal to take pictures in public schools, but sometimes I do. My super-small church, where even shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops are welcome, meets on Sunday mornings at a nearby elementary school. Like everything up here, the school old and outdated. Whether I go in the front door or the secret backdoor I learned about only weeks ago, my eyes find something I want and just like that I’ve broken a Ten Commandment and coveted my neighbor’s school. There’s the wooden lunch lady desk, the real wooden office chairs on wheels and the big steel teacher desks that are virtually unmovable, but my favorite thing has to be the kids’ drawings that line the hallways.

I like to find the most jacked up drawings and imagine what that kid must be like. I’m fascinated by the simplicity of their thoughts. How they use a million colors that never match, but still, somehow go together. And I love it when they write overly structured sentences with misspelled words.

Since school started, there have been about twenty self-portraits that have lined the front cases. Apparently, the assignment was to draw yourself and then write a memory you have about that school. Now most kids had the, “I remember when we had recess and…” or “I remember when we got to see Fantom of the Opra,” but the one featured above probably resulted in a parent/teacher conference.

One special memorie I remembered was when I was angry and alone Moby came to a company me.

On one hand, I feel sorry for this kid because I know how tortured he has to feel around all of his alleged peers and I know how alienating it can be when your mind exists on a completely different plane. On the other hand, I’m excited for him. His life will always be hard, but he’ll live in his pipe dreams.

Students qualifying for free/reduced-price lunch: 73%

Students meeting proficiency standards:

in English: 36%
in Math: 41%

Demographics:

African American: 48%
Latino: 40%
Other: 12%

This is the school where I will be teaching, starting in a couple of weeks. Continue reading »

The real estate office that occupies the storefront of my building. They also have The White House listed as one of their properties up for rent and a poster of all of the former presidents of the United States with a monkey in place of Little George.

Part of a shuffleboard game that I found in a pile of trash on the sidewalk. I tore up the rest of the game just to get the best part. I’m going to cut it into smaller pieces and use it as covers for some blank books I want to make. I figure I can get at least 4 books out of this.

A book I made today.

Which all leads me to this random story from yesterday that has nothing to do with any of this. I went into the city to meet with two girls/ladies about some freelance. They were going on and on about how funny my site was and how entertained they were with my writing. I, of course, politely thanked them, but being that I’m the funniest person I know, this wasn’t anything new. What was new was when we reached the halfway point of our meeting and one of them felt comfortable enough with me to confess the following:

“I have to tell you this. When I went to your site, I started reading it and I couldn’t stop. I went from page to page and I thought to myself, ‘Oh my gosh, I am so in love with him. I’ve found the man of my dreams. He’s so funny and the way he writes and the things he says…” and then I saw that your name was, Sarah, and I was like, ‘Damn.’”

My reaction? Hysterical laughter. And then, “You realize you’re going on the blog for this don’t you?”