Soon I will leave work. I feel tired. (It is hard to nap at the office.) Very little sleep, woke up early. Wearing red corduroy pants.
Oh yeah, so I did the volunteer thing with the kids. I thought we were going to be reading to them, but they were too young to sit still, so the volunteers simply played with blocks and so forth. This was at a battered women's shelter in Manhattan; the mothers were at some book club or therapy meeting, I think.
When I walked in (I was the only male except for one old guy), the team leader (dressed, incredibly, in severe stiletto heels and covered in dangly, shiny jewelry--was she crazy?) pointed at me and said, "So, we have this one little kid who somebody has to watch all the time and not do anything else, just to keep him under control. Can you do that?" That is how I met DANNY. When you say the name in your head, say it like Jack Nicholson roars "DANNY, I'm comin' for ya," while chasing his son in The Shining. DANNY was pretty cool. He can't talk, just yell gleefully and slam things and run away, but they said he always cries the whole time and throws tantrums, and he didn't do that with me, so I guess we got along. Every time DANNY picked something up (a block, a piece of plastic food) he did three things with it:
1) put in his mouth
2) put it up to his ear like a phone
3) threw it
I was sort of benignly watching this, nodding and saying, "That's right, first we taste it and then we throw it," when the team leader came over and said, "No, Danny, no, no, no! No Throwing!" But DANNY just bellowed and ran away. Anyway, I thought it was a pretty good experience, and I'm going to do it again.