On forming a clique in Spanish class

My friends Sherry, Jess and I have been taking a community college Spanish class for the past couple of weeks and I can sincerely say that my skills in the language are coming along. For instance, I now begin emails to them, "Hey hermanas!" ("Hey, sisters!") because we're cool. I might even go so far as to say we're the cool kids in class. For instance, last night, our teacher, Don ("sir" - formal) Victor, asked the class to tell him, through a show of hands, who'd rather begin learning numbers that night after the test, and who'd rather begin learning numbers next week - a.k.a. we would have gotten to go home way early. Needless to say, our hands shot up wildly after the go-home-after-the-test option while the other members of our class nerdily decided that we'd be learning how to count that very night. What the hell, guys?!

The class sort of echoes high school in all ways except the age of the students. In fact, it's a little unnerving. First of all, the class is taught at a local high school. Our classroom is obviously used for Social Studies during the day and is obviously home to a feminist teacher who wants all the kids, even the boys, to be feminists too. The walls are covered in women's rights posters and murals. Faced with this hearty learning environment, I'm tempted to etch hearts into the desk and make faces at my friends when the overacheivers in the front row do something dumb. Really dumb! Like point out some meaningless misspelling or ask a question that only serves to get them brownie points but not any real depth of education.

When they're standing in the hallway whispering about, oh, I don't know, probably how clever they are I just want to throw our youth and cool-factor in their faces. But when it gets down to the real deal, what we're going to have to do is beat them at their own game. And I'm a little concerned about this considering Sherry, Jess and I have lives which we dedicate to ventures besides reading "Spanish is Fun" cover to cover while nursing a decaf coffee at the kitchen table.

As mentioned, last night was our first test and we laughed in the snack room after it was over about the difficulties we had. One of the sections was to write a five-sentence paragraph in Spanish about a scene pictured on the page of a man with a broken down car. What?! This isn't Spanish Comprehensive Lit!

My paragraph (translated here for you to read) went something like this:

Pedro's car is in the garage. Pedro works in a bank. Pedro doesn't buy a new car. Pedro talks to the man. Pedro rides a bike.

Luckily, we think Don Victor, who's a pretty easygoing guy, won't grade us too hard. And if he does, well, it's kind of badass to be a slacker anyway.

The most radical summer of all times

At Cate and Brady's wedding this past weekend - an amazing weekend during which I kept looking around at my friends and thinking about how lucky I am, and how, by the way, AWESOME we are to have at weddings (just keep it in mind when you get to that invite list) - we ran into Ryan Hanson, the brother of Nick Hanson, who just happens to be a card-carrying member of the rock band Buffalino. And you know who plays drums for that band? That's right. My little brother, Angelo Vincent. Although I'd appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself when I try to sell my story, "Rock 'til you drop: The Buffalino Story," to Rolling Stone because it would be bogus if they knew I was the sister of a band member. Ryan and I had met up in Wooster, Ohio, on a beautiful, bleak winter weekend. But even if we hadn't we'd be BFF anyway. Because that's what being siblings of Buffalino band members, not to mention being pretty cool people yourselves does for a friendship.

Ryan and I spent a good portion of the evening trying to call young Vinnie and leave him a message about the serendipitous meeting up in New York City. However, when I talked to my brother yesterday he told me he'd received not a single phone call. This is interesting but not unexpected, I suppose. The wedding was in a bar.

Vinnie did tell me however that it was awesome Ryan and I and all our friends had been able to hang out (I KNOW! That's why we kept TRYING TO CALL YOU!) and proceeded to give me the full rundown of his summer which will involve a) finishing up school b) a trip to Europe c) a summer in Maine with the band and then d) going on tour. I explained to him that this was just perfect because some very key people are planning on taking part in the extravaganza, like Ryan, who could, say, manage the band (we talked about it over cocktails and in between failed phone calls) and me, who will write that Pulitzer winning piece and Max Bobbitt, who'll be taking some photographs of the band for press purposes and J, who will contribute artwork to posters and album covers. Everybody wins. And everybody spends the summer in Maine.

Sure, it may not go down as projected by two optimistic and semi-joking siblings, but why give up totally? The dream of the most radical summer of all times? It's a reality for Vinnie and some of his friends and once again I'm reminded that I don't have to be so practical all the time. Vin suggested that Matt Cutler (a good friend of all the band members, a scholar, and owner, if I'm not mistaken of the game "Pocket Principles," which we played up in Wooster and which, I believe, deserves an entire post of its own) and I start some kind of journal. Why don't we?

The possibilities of the summer are endless and, for now, not quite tangible, but I think everybody better be on the lookout for some - dare I say it? - magic.

I was also made aware at the wedding by my darling husband who'd been planning away that we're apparently having a Fourth of July party in Maryland. I'm told everyone is flying home to attend. This is what happens when you meet up with old friends. When the celebration's on and you're not thinking about the plane you have to catch the next morning and everything is beautiful.