At least Paul Wolfowitz didn’t give himself a petty cash fund for Sri Lankan whores

The weird looking robins that hang out by the courts I play at have taken to dying. Three in four days, all on the concrete, inside the three point line but not in the paint. I suspect I merely witness what’s created when a super cat leaps of the roof of the school and ends lives. Possible but not likely. These birds are not mangled – they just have big eyes. I have developed a half-sweep motion that flings the birds into the grass for the rez dogs to get to.

I’ve made it a point to put the new Lil’ Wayne song (the one where he references Tony Romo and distractedly p-rump-pa-pum-pums through verse after destructive verse) on low volume throughout class this morning. Only a few eyebrows have been raised. Two comments from last weekend: “[after repeating my name three times and getting no response] You’re always ignoring my needs!” and a period or two later, in response to aan assignment: “Three pages? Tomorrow? D’you go and see Freedom Writers or something?”