miami

11:38pm and Racquel and I are zipping past downtown. We were trying to make the midnight showing of Saw IV and not doing well.

We get on the 195 approaching Club Space when my engine stops on the highway. I curse, take the US-1 exit and coast down the ramp onto a side street.

It is 11:41 now.

A homeless person is across the street. The neon sign of GoldRush strip club is ahead of us. Racquel is laughing, I’m still cursing. I turn off the car, sigh, and say the obvious – “this is some bullshit.”

I then try to restart the car. It starts. We decide to see the movie. Why not? 11:43 now.

We are back on 195 and going past P. Diddy and Shaq’s darkened mansions when I mutter, “shit.”

“What?” Racquel said, “the car doesn’t look like it’s dying.”

“No it’s not. But I’m being pulled over,” I said, eying the blue and red flashes in my mirrors.

I pull over. It’s 11:46. The he-woman cop asks for my license and registration and then disappears.

“What the heck could she pull me over for?” I wondered aloud.

He-woman returns and shoves a ticket across Racquel towards me, “Here’s your ticket. Can you sign for it here?”

“Uh, what am I getting a ticket for?”

“Speeding.”
“Speeding?”
“Speeding.”

“What’s the speed limit?” I asked. I had been going 45mph. She wasn’t really giving me a ticket for going 45 in a 40 was she?

“The speed limit is 50 sir.”

“…and how fast are you saying I was going?”

“You were going 65. We had to speed up to 70 just to catch up with you. We were on Palm island. You were going so fast you didn’t even see the cop car.”

“No,” I thought, “It’s Thursday night and the highway is busy, and that’s why I didn’t see your ass.”

I signed for the ticket. It was 12:06am, and some bullshit.

We got to the theater at 12:13. We were in the seats by 12:16. A full 2 minutes late.

Downtown’s construction frenzy has reached NW7th with a hint of foreclosure. “Affordable Condos starting at low 300,000’s.” – yeah, I do live Miami.

“Little Havana heat” seems like a cliché, but it was Little Havana and it was hot. So there. Spent too much time there this week “getting the car fixed” at this decrepit mechanic shop attached to a Westar gas station on 22nd… Empanadas and Coronas … the Westar has a Cafeteria run by a guy who speaks over-polite English.

I’ve had to bring the car back so many times this week that I’m quite sure Juan the mechanic is going to cut my brakes if I go back.

Early morning trips to the country.
Gas station coffee, the smell of soggy air,

…tires in the canal, and the constant threat of alligators and boas…and plent of random pictures.

Sometimes teachers are useful warnings.
Donut students: eyes glazed over – and the professor, ranting or tripping through another lecture.

Sure, ratemyprofessor.com is fairly accurate, but no one has the decency to say anything to the professor – not even on those little evaluations they pass out once a semester…

Sprees and fits, building Trollopian castles, and old school rocking out.

Pacing around, wringing my hands, and probably giving myself that sharp headache.

This girl screamed at me for about a solid hour tonight. This has been happening a lot lately. Stereotypes and caricatures: The NYC-NJ-Jewish-Italian girl who, when caught breaking the rules, becomes the 4-year-old brat in the department store toy isle.

If there’s one thing the RA job teaches you – it’s patience.

Little Havana because the car broke… the refurbished alternator seems like less of a bargain because it keeps raping my battery – and Jose can’t fix it. Come back Saturday he says.

I wasn’t the only one who broke down that day.

Quiet productive nights, tired days.

Humidity, Cuban heat and light — and that little camp in the Everglades.

Lining, outlining, and delineating. And well, deciding.

JHR jumped into the canal outside of his house.

I bitched that it was a stupid idea ‘cus of gators’ – he bitched that it was a stupid idea ‘cus the water’s flippin’ cold.’
Either way, it was a stupid idea.

Ira sucked on her cigarette, smiled, and flung it at JHR when he called her a something in Spanish.

I swear he’s going to get pneumonia.
Or a real bad canal-water-related fungus. That itches. Bad.

Ugh. What happened to my plans?

I’m going to learn a lot tonight in spite of myself. We’ll see how it goes.

Volunteered at the horse ranch today with a some of FIU kids – mostly barn work. This horse blew his nose on me.

I had horse snot all over my arm. Nice animal otherwise, although I’m not opposed to horseburgers.

Came home, ate, read, joahned, & etc.

The professor was desperate for someone to participate, “Just like Dennis mentioned last class…” I give the dumb look of a goat being lectured by a farmer. The stare is practiced. The blank look that means “no.” –the refusal to engage even when the teacher drops your name, “No. I will not humor you. I will not save you. This material bores me. Everyone who read it knows the answer. Try again, or don’t.”

A student who writes great papers, who follows the reading, and deliberately chooses not to participate is more damming (and offensive) to a teacher than a whole class of goats. Maybe this is why getting recommendation letters is going to be so awkward…

Listless. 

Anxiety nights – (JHR) there’s a rat in the room …and something about this stinks of high school.

One,
Two,
Three… heave.

One, two, three, heave, heave, heave and crack – the pickaxe finally lodged into the bedrock. I scooped the rock chunks out of the hole and threw them at some nearby mulch roaches.

Then I popped in a fern and patted it down and heaved at another spot.

Landscaping at the Hope Ranch: Gandhi community service day.

Dorky community service fun, then cleanup (I was a site leader), inappropriate conversations (and sing-alongs), and avocados that were probably poisonous .