On the streets of New York City, an older man, dressed in a suit that might have looked new twenty years ago, sits with an equally old harmonica in his hand. Every few minutes, the man will lift the rusted instrument to his lips and produce a handful of notes. He sees a sharply-dressed, urbanite couple rush down the street in his direction. When they get closer, the young husband, who has draped his expensive coat over his wife's shoulders, seems almost hysterical. "My wife was just stabbed by a mugger!" he screams. "Can you tell me how to get to the hospital?"
The old man smiles, "Practice, my man, practice."
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It's a slow morning already. Between me having trouble falling asleep and the Dog puking at 5:30 AM (damn kids next door feeding her party food), I'm not in any mood to deal with my own students. Online teaching may be convenient (I'm typing this in my pajamas), but I'll take a face-to-face classroom any day.
Over the weekend, we went to Big Tom's wedding, which was awesome - maybe I'll write something about it for all the people who now know this blog's address. Maybe not. Who knows.
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