BourlanDiaries: Mani/Pedi, Pit bulls, and teaching K-12

August 7, 2006

On Saturday, Daniel, Mark Carlson and I all decided to go to Kara’s Nail Bar on Melrose and have a mani/pedi. Mark and I were virgins. The Vietnamese foot and hand manipulators (or whatever the hell they are called) giggled. There we were, the three of us GUYS sitting in these black vibrating chairs with our feet in foamy liquid, also bubbling. Fortunately I didn’t have any ticklish issues, Mark did. Clip, clip, clip. Buff, buff, sand, brrrrrrr, rub, rinse, scrape, oil on the toenails, cellophane around my feet for “the calousses.” A strange skinburning smell wafted up. Then she slapped me on the arms like: ol buddy, ol pal. (This meant that my foot session was over.) I smiled as though I understood the tradition. She moved to my hands. Clipped the nails and hangnails, astray cuticles and God knows what else. Mark’s gal popped all of his toes. Mine didn’t. I was over it. I also got arm massage because I told her my arms hurt. Daniel and Mark were pissed because they DIDN’T get arm massages.

Being a pedicure virgin, my toenails were verging on being hooves (according to Daniel) and SOMETHING had to be done. Our toenails become more brittle as we age, and what worked as a 23 year old doesn’t work as a 53 year old. So my nail reality has been changing of late. I’m embarassed to never have availed myself of this small luxury. So gentlemen, if you have never had a manicure, or a pedicure for that matter, realize that life can be even better with a manicure and pedicure from time to time. Alright, I don’t give a damn about these weird glossy nails I have now, but I figure I’ll do some gardening tomorrow and they’ll be back to normal. Indulge yourself. Like me, you’ll kick yourself for not doing it sooner.

pit.jpgYesterday we went to a group birthday party at Teresina’s (my trainer). I couldn’t believe it. She made FRIED PIZZA. O my god, it was sooooo good. We were surrounded by pit bulls. Teresina takes in homeless pit bulls to find them new homes. There were also probably 6 children under the age of 7 co-mingling unsupervised with these dogs. Nothing happened. The dogs and children were beautifully “trained” and smart. Wow. We also met Chrissie B’s two beautiful children. The girl, 13, we were convinced that she will be Executive of some major Manhattan firm by the time she is 25. The boy was a real looker, and obviously well educated by his parents. No witty comment seemed to escape him. He was fascinated with Daniel. “Your eyes are ALWAYS moving, like this [imitates Daniel]; and your mouth always does this [imitates again]. Why do you do that?” This kid was proabably 11 or 12. He did NOT seem gay whatsoever. But his record button was ON with Daniel. He was fascinated with Daniel’s every move and everything he said. I flashed back into my own past thinking about certain older boys that were my role models whom I looked up to.

On our way home Daniel said: “I want kids.” I said I don’t. He clarified: “I want kids in our lives. I know your ‘kids’ are your students.” I agreed. I said that to me, the ability to teach and communicate with K-12 students is a gift. A GIFT. Not something losers do. Yes, there are some bad teachers out there, just as there are bad anythings out there. But he knows that I prefer teaching those who have already decided that they want to be musicians. I have no interest in teaching younger students. I am thrilled to have a partner who loves children and whom children love. I’m content to be the mysterious cloud to his side (who was that?) who will teach him or her something later.

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