One in awhile, I will dash a letter to the editor to the San Francisco Chronicle. I read the editorial section every morning, including the letters to editors section and I get sick of the general complaining, usually about Trump and his policies, without anybody coming up with solutions or alternatives.
Today, there were two letters that offered solutions or alternatives and wrote the paper telling them how much I appreciated them.
The other day there was a story about Amazon wasting so much cardboard when shipping stuff to all of us. One responder had a good idea that Amazon should set up recycling centers at Whole Foods, which Amazon owns.
The other writer wrote that, instead of running for President, perhaps Kamala Harris should be the next Attorney General, and position herself to run in eight years.
I blame Obama, and he was the exception, that now we have lots of folks running for President, who in my opinion, haven't cut their national legislative teeth enough to be President. Harris, and my rep, Eric Swalwell, are two of those folks who I think could benefit from more time in Congress before running for the big job. Heck, the mayor of So. Bend, IN, "Mayor Pete," as he's called, is running. WTF?
Anyway, I appreciated those two people not just whining as most of the letter writers do.
I had a very strange dream last night. I dreamt my brother and I had been recruited to a European high school to play water polo. My brother thought it would be a good idea to deal cocaine from his dorm room and I watched him fill and seal little baggies on a comic book.
After a practice at the castle pool - the high school was at a castle, a gestapo squad with dogs invaded the school and took every student's passport and started searching the rooms. A gestapo officer interrogated me and presented my brother's comic book and asked me if I knew anything about it. I told them I didn't and they told me there was cocaine residue all over the pages. I told them I didn't know anything about it.
All the students tried escaping, and here's the wild part: I saw John Coan running around one of the turrets in leather shorted lederhosen with a leather tyrolean cap, and in the dream, thought, "Coan is getting dragged off to some re-training camp with that get-up on."
The gestapo managed to corral all the students and at some point the administration and gestapo officers questioned an essay I had just done that had been partially redacted.
When they asked me for an explanation, I said, "Do you want my response?"
They said, "Yes we do."
I said, "Fuck this shit!" and strode off to cheers from the rest of the students.
I woke up, but wondered if I'd be attending the same re-training camp as Coan and his leather shorted lederhosen.
I'm teaching classes of mostly Chilean students at Newcastle College right now and it's pretty fun, but chaotic. In the same groups there are several students from the Middle East, China and Europe too.
There's one Saudi girl in one morning class who is incredibly hot. I feel like a lech, but at the same time I think it's natural as a male teacher to look at the cute girls for just a little bit longer than the others. Isn't it?