HE'S NOT DEAD!

No, I'm not. I have for over a month now been very worked up about the Arizona law targeting ethnic studies classes. Having taught an ethnic studies class at Western, I really want to take the time to write a thoughtful blog post about the experience and how it might relate, for all that I was a privileged white kid teaching (mostly) privileged white kids. Funny stories.

But anytime I have a couple of hours to write, I've actually been writing. One day. Until then: Jan Brewer, you are a simpleton.

Here's an excerpt from what I've been writing. This one was called "Father's Day:"


They had just gotten into bed at one AM when someone—Jeff would later correct himself and say something—banged on the drum set.

Jeff stumbled to the garage door. Three Annas looked up at him, three sets of blonde curls, three sets of two teeth and three ice-blue eyes. They scattered, squealing with glee as the man they thought of as their daddy ran after them. “Fallon! Clones!”