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pitchforkmedia did not publish my review. instead, they opted to use this tripe:

i have decided that i must write a review for every record that i buy from this point on. 1. it will make me write more. 2. it will actually force me to listen to the full record, and pay attention to lyrics and different instruments used. 3. it will encourage me to save money.

mr. cramer forgot he wanted me to teach today, so he left me with half an hour left of class. surprisingly, only two students in second period had read the house on mango street. neither could remember specifically what it was about. janessa offered to read baca's "dream come true early," but faltered when trying to pronounce "astronomical." she decided not to read after that. no one else stepped up, so i blazed through it, and attempted a discussion with less than six minutes left. the results were disappointing.

mr. rhodes' class took a composition test, so i finished the rest of alan moore's graphic novel, the watchmen. it starts out slow, picks up in the middle, and disappoints in the end. it could've been a brilliant career.

after class, mr. rhodes invited me to get some free food in front of room 412. marianna couldn't join us, since she had to get to her internship at the ywca. "but there's gonna be posole, tortillas," he said. "i can't, i've gotta go to my intern-" "enchiladas, sopes," he continued, interrupting her. as we walked, two girls were swinging around, holding onto poles. "why don't we ever see adults doing that, james?" "i don't know." "when did we become so boring?" "in high school, i think." he laughed. "when did we become so self-conscious?" i don't answer. "where did you go to high school?" i asked. "i went to school in castro valley, california. it was an experimental school. they didn't have set periods of time for classes..." he continued, but i didn't follow. in front of 412, a bunch of his students were waiting in line for food. they eyed me suspiciously, so i opted not to stand in line with them. no other teachers were in line, so it felt strange, standing around like i had nothing to eat. in reality, all i had were a banana and apple in my bag.

i think i'll head over there now. the line must be smaller. i can hear mr. cramer telling me to get some "fetchin' chavalas," or that i've got no "fetchin' kahunas."

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