The

I took this picture last Saturday from Memorial Stadium in Berkeley.

The following blog post was written over the course of three days by a man suffering the common cold.

I’ve decided to title this post, “The.” My presumption is that there has never been an essay titled “The” before. It could be that a grammarian wrote a piece about articles with that name but I rather doubt it. Grammarians tend not to be cutesy with titles. I should here add that I’m titling this writing “The” just for the sake of it. There is no grand scheme, no hidden meaning. The idea came to me on the bus.* Thus ends my titular driven preamble.

I just overheard a couple of my fellow teachers discuss classes in which students are or were bored. They wondered if they were the cause of the boredom.

Let me address that question for them in absentia: yes.

Fact: if adult students are bored in an ESL class the cause of the boredom is most certainly the teacher. There’s no use pretending otherwise.

Observation: If you do not want your students to be bored, stop being boring.

I see teachers abdicate all the time. Their students aren’t interested, they have bad attitudes, there’s nothing they can do. Why bother, anymore? This goes against the essence of teaching. Teachers are in charge, they set the tone, they are responsible. If a teacher “gives up” on a class that teacher has stopped doing her or his job. If you stop doing your job then stop taking money for it.

I have a cold. No matter how old you are (and my god I’m desperately old now, I was looking at pictures I took back when the Rocky Mountains were just forming) when you show up at work with a cold you will get advice. Drink plenty of liquids, I’m told. Have some hot tea with honey and lemon, I’m counseled. Try to get some rest, is proffered. I’ve had more colds than these people have had birthdays. Yet the advice pours in.

I am also offered miracle cures. Sometimes by people who themselves have a cold and have been suffering from it for days despite the sure fire remedy they have in their hand at that very moment. I remember working with two people who once offered me something that “will knock it right out” it had to be good because they added “it’s Chinese.” I assured them that I had taken all necessary measures and that their “Chinese” cure that would “knock it right out” was not needed. My cold was over in a few days. They subsequently both got the cold and shared their Chinese cure. Their colds far outlasted mine. Over and over again through the years they swore by the miraculous Chinese cure that knocked colds “right out.”

You may have gathered that I do not miss work because of a cold. In fact I don’t miss work for any kind of illness because I don’t believe in it. The last two times I had to stay at home from work due to illness I was under orders, once from my boss and the other time from a doctor. I haven’t had the flu in longer than I can remember — and no I’m not going to knock on wood because that’s no more effective than Chinese cures for colds.

This is not to say that I do not miss work days. Sometimes I have a medical appointments and occasionally I’ll take mental health days, which, given the state of my mental health should probably be a daily exercise. But a goddamned stupid cold is no excuse not to work. What, I want to stay home when I don’t feel good? The hell with that, I’d rather stay home while in the pink so I can fully enjoy my leisure time.

Just had a bowl of clam chowder at a famous nearby eatery which is mostly known for its invention of a famous alcoholic beverage. (No names here, I don’t advertise.) It was delicious. One thing I enjoyed about the experience is how it took me back to my youth and going to restaurants with my dear old dad. The waiters and bartenders were older gents wearing white shirts and black vests. They were not minimum wage slaves eking out an existence. The waiter who took my order did not respond to my request by saying, “awesome.” He did not engage in idle chit chat about the weather or local nine, he did not tell me about today’s specials. He was courteous and adroit with the cutlery and the order. One of the bartenders was a silver headed mustachioed man who looked to be in his 60s. He mixed drinks effortless and with a casual sense of boredom. Then he regaled two women at the bar with a hokey card trick. The sly old bartender was really flirting but it was done so obscurely that no one noticed — save eagle eyed fellow geezers like yours truly -- and no harm was done. I liked the restaurant and all those like it in which the workers are professionals who take pride in their work and are good at it.

But I turn my attention now to the recent spate of sexual abuse allegations against the likes of Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey and Louis C.K. (and unfortunately, this is but to name a few). I don’t get it. I really don’t understand how a man can — I mean for crying out loud who even thinks about entering a room naked and masturbating in front of women who have not specifically said, “yeah it would be great if you came into the room bare ass, having a wank. What mind conceives of this as an idea, let alone an acceptable one? And all this unwanted touching. There is satisfaction in that for you? How? What makes sexual contact so stimulating (at least to an old fashioned kind of bloke like me) is that the other party is interested in the same thing you are. The thrill of another person enjoying what you’re enjoying at the same time. What possible fun can it be if the other person isn’t into it? You’ve got to be fucking nuts to enjoy touching someone who isn’t enjoying being touched.

I remember once in college being quite drunk, alone with a woman, kissing. I misinterpreted the moment and made a move to advance the situation and she vehemently protested. I immediately disengaged horrified that I had stepped out of bounds. I felt very bad — and that was when I was drunk.

All of this makes me depressed and lord knows I don’t need any help in that department. I was such a huge fan of Kevin Spacey, one of our greatest actors. I feel bad for him and hope he finds help but I feel infinitely worse for the people he has molested. Shame on him. But as depressing as this all is I’m glad it’s finally coming out. Hopefully we are moving toward living in a culture in which sexual harassment is so routinely exposed that it happens less and less.

Today marks the 39th anniversary of the first date that I had with a certain young lady who is today my wife. There is no man alive luckier than I am. We have been married for 30 years and have two beautiful, intelligent daughters. The fact that this wonderful woman loves me is all the reason I need to get up in the morning. I'm humbled.

*Speaking of busses, I think we'd live in a much more free and equal society if everyone was required to ride the bus at least a few days of the year and I mean city busses. Imagine the perspective this would give politicians and CEOs and professors and hair stylists and entertainers and everyone else. For one thing there'd be a lot more money funneled into public transportation.