Tasks:

Since this weekend is a rare occasion where Prizer films is out of town and the weekly script session has been canceled, I will be diligently unpack, upack, unpack(!) work on flexi-place proposal, update GWU site, and plug at the script... -signed in blood.

isabella oliver design

Ordered this top for a photo shoot next week. A wrap line of clothing to fit all the pregnancy stages... what a beautiful and brilliant concept.

The Wire

The Wire

We all seen worse facts, in actuality and on TV… none of it gets to me. Last night, I watched a TV episode on DVD: A former cop struggles as a first year 6^th grade Math teacher in the inner cities of Baltimore. A girl slashes her bully's face with a razor... I hooted and thought the bully deserved it.

However, one particular kid, DeShawn in this class brought to light my undying compassion for underdogs and ill tolerance for anything else. This kid stinks, literally. Nobody wants to sit next him because of his odor. Even the mom of one of his buddies didn't let him in her house when 3 of them went over to play. What a bitch.

It was lunch and the ex-cop teacher noticed DeShawn wasn't eating. He sat there quietly staring at the table:

"DeShawn, come here please."

He hands DeShawn a pack of Twinkies and chips.

"I was wondering if you can help me out. My wife over packed my lunch."

DeShawn was already woofing down the snacks. The ex-cop teacher pulls out a pass and some change.

"Get yourself a drink from the machine down the hall."

DeShawn tweaks out a "Thank you."

When DeShawn leaves, the ex-cop teacher calls another student to his desk.

"Nikki, what's up with DeShawn?"

"His folks are druggies."

"What happened to the clothes Mrs. Fry gave him?"

"His folks takes it and pawns it off. Everyone knows that."

Later in the show, the ex-cop teacher shows Deshawn a locker in the teacher's lounge.

"Get here early, I'll let you in and you can shower."

He points at toiletries on the top shelf and a fresh pair of burgundy shirt and Khaki pants. (Baltimore schools has dress code now)

"What do I do with my dirty clothes?" DeShawn asked.

Ex-cop teacher tugs on a mesh bag.

"Put it in here and I'll take it home at the end of the day and wash it."

A smile spread across his face for the first time. He looked like a different kid and I would not have hesitated to adopt this kid. DeShawn, a representation of too many, stirred in me something that even the one growing inside of me hasn't. Between watching my body get out of shape and knowing I don't care much for babies, I decided permanently to make sure I don't have anymore (getting the tubes tied).

Names and bloodlines was never any importance to me. It suddenly made me sick in the stomach, all this over-the-top baby crap while kids like DeShawn can't get a damn thing to eat. This baby will never "need" a day in his life, nor be a menace or a savior to society. It was in this kid, DeShawn, that I saw the thin line between destruction and hope. I don't mean a ways of becoming president one day but by means of a smile that could spark a revolution… either a Hitler or Martin Luther King, Jr. of the streets.