Sports Aren't Everything: This week it was announced that The Lakers' second round draft pick, Ronny Turiaf, would be unable to play basketball this year, and quite possibly for the rest of his life. He was diagnosed with an enlarged aortic valve, stemming from an enlarged heart, which is extremely susceptible to tearing. If torn, the ramifications would mean death. Doctors said that the odds were about 75% that it would tear within the next 3-4 years if left untreated. He will have open-heart surgery in the next month, and there exists the possibility, as with any surgery--especially major--that he won't make it through the surgery. There also remains a chance that he could come back and play as soon as next year. My first thought when I heard the news on ESPN was disappointment that The Lakers wasted their draft pick. Immediately my mind went to some of the other players that The Lakers could have drafted, which were still on the draft board, when they picked Ronny Turiaf. Then there came a clip of Ronny at a press conference. He talked about how much basketball means to him. He talked about how important an NBA paycheck would be to his family in the Caribbean. He talked about how he would fight like hell to be back in the NBA as soon as possible. He talked about how scared he was of never waking up from surgery. As I watched, I felt so fucking ashamed and embarrassed for having thought only of The Lakers "wasting" a draft pick. A human being is suffering greatly, and he represents the hundreds of thousands who suffer from tragedies but aren’t famous or public interest-worthy enough to make the news. And I was a shallow little asshole about it. The irony is that anyone who has seen Ronny Turiaf play knows that he is far from the best player. He is basically just a hustle player; an energy player. He is someone who plays with great "heart," and of course the irony is that it is the huge heart with which he plays that led to this unfortunate condition from which he suffers. I wish Ronny the best of luck in his surgery, and hope to see him on the court again, doing what he loves, not in order for him to be getting rebounds for The Lakers, but because it would mean that the surgery was successful and he is again doing what he loves. So dissimilar from the motivation of so many other professional athletes, and people in general. Good luck Ronny.

(Insert the "It couldn’t have happened to Spree because his heart isn’t big enough" joke here).

Remember when we all thought Roni Size (REPRAZENT!) was the shit? Good times...

I was organizing a potluck for my class and I tried to impress upon students that we would be much better off having too much food rather than too little food. One girl spoke up and said, "Yeah, if we have too much we can give it to a homo." When I stopped laughing at her, I couldn’t decide what was funnier: her obvious error in word choice or the fact that a 13-year-old girl would call homeless people "hobos." What is this, the 1930s?

My whole summer school went on a field trip to CSU Monterey, on school busses, and watching these girls on the bus, it is absolutely terrifying the regularity with which they reapply lip gloss. And when they apply, it is no quick swipe. They lather that crap on until their lips are so shiny that I can see my reflection in them. And as soon as they dull enough so that I don’t need to wear sunglasses to look at them, they reapply. Ugh.

Another thing I never understood: Why did McFly always sleep with his arm seemingly tied behind his back in Back to the Future? Is it a guitar player thing? I always wondered about that.

I can't say that I really understand the inner workings or turmoil of transsexuals, but what really confuses me is the TSs who go through all the surgeries and hormone treatments of changing sex, only to become gay or lesbian. I can understand a man trapped in a woman's body who still likes men either way, but what confuses me is a man trapped in a woman's body who goes through all the "changes" just to become a lesbian. That is kind of weird.

You know what else makes SF>LA? Walgreen's. There aren’t really any in LA and they are everywhere in SF. I ain't trying to say that Walgreen's is the bomb or that I do my back to school clothes shopping there or anything. But Walgreen's fills a niche perfectly. It is so much more than a liquor store, and so much less than going to the market. They have everything you need there (sans actual food shopping, but perfect for a honey-roasted-peanut pick-me-up), in a manageably sized store.* It is consistently cheaper than the market, and heaps cheaper than a liquor store. And no matter where you are in The City, one is always within 5 blocks. Which is a very short walk for a San Franciscan.

*First time in a new Walgreen's can be hard to track stuff down.

Anytime I see some hipster wearing fingerless gloves, I always just wanna be like, "Oh yeah. I thought that was sooooo cool too...when I was 13... You cheesy maggot."

You know what really salts my balls? Bars that price their drinks so that you end up getting quarters for change. Fucking fuckers. That drives me crazy. I always feel like I am supposed to just leave the quarters in addition to the standard dollar tip per drink, but sometimes I don’t wanna. Sometimes I feel like saying, "Fuck that." A guy's got laundry to do. Those quarters are worth more than 25 cents (and if you have to go to a Laundromat like I do, you know exactly what I mean, and if you don’t, then I resent you). Plus, for each round of drinks bought, there goes the quarter conundrum all over again. So I can pick up the quarters change and use them the next time I order drinks, but then paying with exact change (plus tip) at a bar always feels a bit strange/petty too. God, why do you make life so hard?

I just got a message from Nick, and all it said was, "There's guacamole in it if you call me back." I called him back.

My students were doing a bridge-building-project, trying to build the strongest bridge they could out of a finite number of popsicle sticks (extra credit to Bert for schlepping around with me last weekend to Michael's to buy popsicle sticks), and they were working in groups. One of my favorite students, Erika, was working with a rather messy partner. The glue was going everywhere, and I heard her say to her groupmate, "You're killing me Smalls." I freaked out. I asked her if I heard her right. She repeated. I had. She was already one of my favorite students (more attitude than anybody I know, except maybe me), and she was reciting lines to a movie that I love; a movie that came out when she was probably 4 years old. Outstanding. FOR EV ER. Oh happy day.

Later that day I saw Erika running down the hall, and I said, "Hey Erika, it's nice to see you actually running. Normally you are just running your mouth." She actually stopped running to acknowledge that that was a good one. Good times...

I met someone who actually says good times as much or more than I do, and she is a fellow teacher. Holler at Ms. Medina.

Top 5 Reasons To Be a Summer School Teacher:
Do you have any idea how easy it is to "face" a 14 year old? Pretty easy.
I am waaaaaaaaaay taller than all those kids (in an interrelated note, I can beat them all in basketball).
I am way smarter than all those kids.
All the chocolate milk I can drink (booyakatribe).
If you accidentally say swear words, they think you are supercool.
Making them do public speaking.

Seriously, I think that both yoga and modern dance moves were all created by nervous high school kids who had to give speeches in front of their classes.

After a week off for some cock definitions, I return to the that guy of the week. This week's that guy, despite being a guy called "Lane," is another great one. RIP Lane.

Amongst his 77 film credits, the highlights include:

The Legend of Bagger Vance (For every Happy Gilmore or Caddyshack, there is a Bagger).
The Hi-Lo Country
The Scout
Son in Law (Kelly Kapowski's boobies=Chill).
The Distinguished Gentleman (Eddie Murphy as the 40-year-old pitcher from Major League, his fastball clearly gone, putting snot on the ball just to get through an inning). The Mighty Ducks (Not unlike the golf theory, for every 9 sickass hockey movies, there is a Mighty Ducks).
My Cousin Vinny ("Oh, and you blend?").
Air America
Red Dawn (WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLVERIIIIIIIINES*).
Notable TV appearances include: Hill Street Blues, King of the Hill (which I don’t really dig, but people love that shit), Twilight Zone, Murphy Brown, and Dallas.

*I figure that the whole high school mascot thing is so cheesy, I didn’t really care what the mascot of the high school I taught at would be. There were 2 notable exceptions: if the mascot were either the Wolverines or the Cougars.

Screw nice; I am actually pretty pumped about it. Cougars.

by Justin
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