In only my second day up here, I have found the perfect place to work between classes. It's a café near my morning class that has fast, free wireless and a comfortable leather seat with a superb combination of spot lights and indirect sunlight from outdoors. The decor is a little 80s, in a European-furniture way, but my back is so happy at this angle that I will allow myself to be transported back to the awkward days when I confused the Pointer Sisters with Van Halen. The only problem is that I can see one of those coupon booklets they distribute to college students on the floor in front of me, just to the left of my laptop screen. My obsessive compulsive tendencies are activated by intrusions in my field of vision, so this is a big deal for me from the standpoint of my psychological state. But I am reluctant to get up and move the booklet, because it's hard to imagine sitting back down at a better angle. So I decided to write this entry instead, in the hopes that someone else might pick it up in the interim. Unfortunately, since no one has come to my existential rescue, I am now going to have to sit the laptop down and do it myself.
I went to Parent Night at Skylar's school last night. While dismayed to learn that the homework load had not been reduced from last year, despite many complaints, and was further dismayed to perceive a mathward slant in the nature of that homework, I was cheered by her teacher's clarity of purpose. The best part, though, was reading what Skylar had written for the occasion. In addition to the predictable reference to the kitten she has been promised by winter, she gave an interesting summary of her interests. Some I knew. But I was greatly surprised to read the sentence in which, without prompting, she declared that, "The Rolling Stones are my favorite band." I don't think that's really true, though she has been enjoying the songs I've played for her in the car since she became an expert at singing "Gimme Shelter." Even if it isn't, though, the fact that she wanted to present herself in that way is intriguing. Since she was in pre-school, she has referred to things she likes, almost always in opposition to the trends of the moment, as "classic." Hell, she even referred to the codeine she took after having her tonsils removed as, "classic medicine." What I'm realizing now is that "classic rock" lends itself to being easily subsumed under that highly personal rubric.