“‘Scuse me, you speak English?” the guy in the winter jacket asks me as he pulls his cell away from his ear. There’s some urgency to his voice, gravity.
In my neighborhood, I could, I suppose, be mistaken for a Russian or a Pole or a Serb, so the odds are decent that English is not my first language. But that I don’t speak it all? That seems a bit ridiculous. “Yeah.” There’s not much else to say.
“Let me call you right back,” he says into the phone as he snaps it shut. He drops the phone in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out an inhaler. “I live right over there,” and he points at a yellow brick apartment building, “and my daughter is at the clinic,” and he points in another direction, up the street toward the clinic by the college, and he pulls the medication part of the inhaler back. (more…)
As an exercise in breaking down complex ideas into their component pieces, I used to play music in the Introduction to Theater class I taught once upon a decade. I started with Kermit the Frog singing “The Rainbow Connection.”
I followed with the sort-of joke band, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, covering “The Rainbow Connection,” in a punk style.
Then I played The Clash’s “London Calling,” and I asked them, what do you think about when you think about punk?