first dinner party in the new kitchen!

I think it was a success. Though, I am worried that I served chicken. Hope no one gets sick.

Speaking of chicken, here's a fucked up meat thing I just found out about today. I bought the meat first because I don't like the smell of raw meat and wanted to get that part of shopping done. I have this thing about meat on the bone (gross) so I asked the butcher guy where the flat chicken was. He was like "what?" Dude, the chicken that doesn't have anything but chicken in it. Duh.

So he showed me where it was and I found this package that said Chicken Tender. I thought, that's what I want. Tender chicken. And I thought they were being super fancy like the fucking french, always putting words in the wrong order (like milk of goat - just say goat's milk, for fuck's sake). Anyway, it turns out chicken tender is little chicken pieces. The butcher said what I needed was chicken (hee) breast. So I said "I didn't realize chicken had breasts." And immediately regretted it.

Then I went to the vegetable and fruit section and my guy was there who holds designer apples for me and who just got grapples in on Wednesday (hooray! Denver bitches, I brought you grapples. No graffiti on my garage for at least a year, please.). He gave me a 10 minute lecture on potatoes in general and then we had a consultation session about what I wanted the mashed potatoes to be like so he could select the right potato for me (his advice was perfect so I have to bring him some beer tomorrow).

I made the mashed potatoes by hand, including the part where you have to crush them. l also learned a new trick (not in Betty Crocker) to microwave the milk before you put it in the potatoes from my friend Cam.

I found the chives all by myself without asking anyone.

As long as no one gets sick I would say my first dinner party was a success. Plate hand made by artist Annie Glass.
Actually, that chicken looks gross. Like an abortion. But it tasted good.

parent of the year

PARENT OF THE YEAR

My flight was delayed 2 hours and the airport was full of morons and screaming kids. My favorite was a little, would guess 5 or 6 years old, boy running around the gate screaming and crying. His dad was wearing noise cancellation headphones and watching a movie on his ipad.

Parent of the year.

Then the boy ate shit after running into some hapless business man's suitcase. Parent did not look up from his movie. Business guy was traumatized and trying to find out whose kid was laying on his suit case, screaming and crying. Woman in a wheel chair was like "Oh, he's been doing that for an hour. Don't worry."

Is this the best my generation can do????

RUNNER UP

While waiting to board my plane, which finally showed up.

...a father told his 2 year old daughter, Summer (gay name, she's not even blond), to pull a booger out her nose and eat it (she did).

I thought I was going to throw up.

The mom kept singing that ring around the rosie song. I wanted to punch her.Then they (mom and dad) argued over who was going to change the kid's diaper (you wait until boarding time to think of that???). Kid was crying and grabbing for sippy cup but mom refused to let her have a drink because she doesn't want to change the kid's diaper on the plane (just repeating what she said - husband said "then stop showing her the sippy cup"). Summer kept calling her mom "nanny". And the mom kept saying "I'm not your nanny". No. Shit.


Then they put Summer on a fucking leash.

I fucking hate them. Summer cried the entire flight to Denver, though, she was at least 5 rows away and I could tune her out.

And that's when I realized - I don't hate kids that travel. I hate their parents.

not that hard to crash Windows 8 - or, at least, the booth

Oakland airport was insane tonight. The worst I've seen it. The flight before mine at the gate was going to Salt Lake City and had been delayed 8 hours. They gave everyone a $200 voucher. That still sucks.

Anyway, there was nowhere to read without a billion annoying people around, so I was hiding behind a Windows 8 booth where they demo the software (at the airport - only in California). Anyway, I was pacing, smoking, and reading and accidentally tripped over a power cord and turned off all the lights in the booth.

Then I ran away. Not sure if anyone saw me. I went two gates away and then, after 10 minutes, snuck back to my gate. Looks like the lights are back on.

Joys of holiday travel. Glad I'm home until next year.

BTW, you may have noticed, the world didn't end today you fuckwits at Fox news. Though, I guess we have 24 hours.

final installation of the new croco-diamond story

I'm le tired but finished the croco-diamond story. Got 3 hours of sleep last night. Ending is cheesy but remember it's a story for kids.

And so the croco-diamond began reading the story, though his glasses had fallen off. Since croco-diamonds don’t have ears they can’t wear glasses. And Marie had noticed that the glasses somewhat resembled the glasses of the head mistress. She put her head down on her desk and hoped they weren’t the head mistress’ glasses.

“One day, the man (“who claimed to want to watch the chrysalis turn into a butterfly”, the croco-diamond added), noticed the chrysalis struggling in its cocoon. It was trying to escape (“to be born as a butterfly, we can presume, otherwise why leave the comfort and convenience of a cocoon – the inside of a cocoon is soft and warm, like sleeping in cotton candy, if cotton candy wasn’t sticky”). So the man wondered if he should he help the chrysalis escape the cocoon.

I might add at this point, children, that helping people obviously results in tragic consequences as related through the story of my uncle and the button. Surely there is a moment of happiness when one sees a butterfly emerge in all its glory, but really, should one help people? Because we have no idea what’s in the cocoon. It could be a trick. In the cocoon there could be a spider PRETENDING to be a butterfly. After all, this was just a random cocoon the man found in the woods. And frankly, he doesn’t strike me as being very bright.

I don’t like spiders at all. I remember once…”

“It’s a butterfly. It’s a STORY ABOUT A BUTTERFLY.” Said Ms. Kaeli.

“If you insist.” Said the croco-diamond. “Well, there is also the concern of  disappointment. After all, it may be a speckled wood butterfly that emerges from the cocoon. I don’t find them particularly attractive. But I do admire colorful butterflies such as the Rusty-tipped page, the Australian painted lady, the purple spotted swallowtail, the blue morpho, the peacock...”

There was a noise from the back of the room, near the fish tank, which sounded like Ms. Kaeli sneezing, except the sneeze, instead of sounding like AH-CHOO, sounded like “quinoa snacks”.

“Carrying on,” said the croco-diamond nervously. “The man decided to help the chrysalis from the cocoon. He was about to cut the cocoon open, when, suddenly, a voice spoke:

DO NOT CUT THE COCOON! THE CHRYSALIS WILL BE INJURED! LEAVE IT ALONE!”

The croco-diamond picked his (or maybe the school mistress’s) glasses up from where they had fallen on the floor. He held them in what he hoped was a scholarly way, between two fingers.

“Now children, it appears this man, who steals cocoons and does other bad things that we can only imagine, is now hearing voices in his head. I must question whether this narrator is, what is the polite term? Crazy. I once thought I heard a voice, which said “help me, help me!” But it turns out it was my brother, who had crawled up the drainage pipe on the side of our house, and, having just eaten a large meal of brussel sprouts, had gotten himself stuck due to his tummy full of gas.

Well, we sent for the croco-doctor, who told my brother to burp to release the air to shrink his stomach so that he might get out of the pipe. The house began to rattle with each burp, as if a terrible storm was happening. Or maybe an earthquake. Soon the shingles were falling off the roof and the china cabinet almost…”

A quinoa snack splattered on the black board directly behind the croco-diamond. None saw who threw it.

“Let’s see. I’ve lost my place.” Said the croco-diamond, fumbling with the book anxiously. “Oh yes, “And so the man did not help the chrysalis. He watched for days as the butterfly struggled to be born. It seemed as if it would never succeed.

And then one day the man awoke to find a beautiful butterfly.”

The croco-diamond paused, set the book in his lap, absently scratched his nose, and then said, “This is the worst story I’ve ever read. The plot is quite boring. The narrator is at best crazy and likely imagining this whole episode. Finding a cocoon in the woods? Preposterous! I can’t help but to think of better books I’ve read, such as the poggly woggly adventure series, book four in particular, where the poggly wogglys encounter a pirate ship made of peanut butter and jelly that is set to attack! Thinking fast, they turn their surf boards into a knife of sorts and gather all of the bread in their village…”

There was a sound from the back of the room, as if someone was covering her mouth and screaming. All turned and looked to the back of the room.

“The pirates, as it turns out, were made from marshmallows and were easily defeated by the poggly wogglys. I will now turn things back over to Ms. Kaeli,” said the croco-diamond, who might have realized Ms. Kaeli was upset about something. Though he couldn’t think what might have upset her.

Ms. Kaeli was resting on the bean bags in the back of the room, and appeared to be quite worn out although it was not even lunch time yet.

 “What do you think the moral of the story is?” she asked the croco-diamond.

 “The…moral?” asked the croco-diamond.

“The lesson. What can we learn from the man who let the chrysalis struggle to become a butterfly?”

“Well. First we can learn that if one hears a voice that doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere, and one doesn’t have a burping brother caught in a drain pipe, that one is possibly crazy. And not as in ‘Johan goes crazy and throws toys’ way. I mean certifiably mad.

Once in my village there was a man who went to Varenham’s Finest Foods with three cats on his head. The cats were named Eenie, Meenie, and Miney. The man would pretend he had gone to Varenham’s to buy pumpkins, even though, I might add, it was NOT Halloween. And, I remember now, he had large green galoshes, the old fashioned type with the hooks on the front, and he would ask for…”

“Mr. Croco-diamond, please answer the question.”

“But I can’t because I feel faint just now, thinking about those cats. One cat, Eenie, no, it was definitely Meenie, no, perhaps it was Miney, used to ask the poor croco-didis “are you a member of the push in the bush club?” The croco-didi would say “Why no, I am not a member of such a club as you’ve mentioned. I’ve never heard of it.” Which, of course, would be the polite thing to say. The cat, Eenie, Meenie, or Miney, I can’t remember, would push the croco-didi into a bush! Why, the shrubbery in the whole town was being destroyed!”

The croco-diamond fell, rather dramatically, to the floor, curled into a ball, and said “Oh! You evil cats! Eenie, Meenie, and Miney!”

Marie raised her hand. “I think I know what the moral is.”

“Tell us.” Said Ms. Kaeli.

“The moral of the story is that sometimes you have to let people struggle and not help them so they can become the person they are meant to be. The chrysalis would not have become a beautiful butterfly if the man had helped it.”

“PRECISELY WHAT I’VE SAID ALL ALONG!” declared the croco-diamond, suddenly recovering from his remembrance of Eenie, Meenie, and Miney and leaping to his feet from the floor. “One must never help people! You’ll only fall into an abysm, be attacked by cats, and then the spiders will come…”

“Croc,” said Marie. “Sometimes you are so ridiculous. Of course you can help people. You just have to know when to help them.”

“Marie,” said the croco-diamond, “you are very wise. I have learned something from you today. Now, how about a warm bowl of soup. I’m positively famished!”

And so all the children ate soup, and didn’t have to eat quinoa snacks, and the croco-diamond surprised everyone with fresh dragon fruit for dessert. Though, some of the dragon fruit had lint on it from a ball of yarn the croco-diamond had put in his picnic basket.

“I HAD to bring the yarn.” The croco-diamond explained.  “One never knows when one may need some emergency knitting.”

Johan was allowed to keep the croco-diamond’s bongos. The head mistress retrieved her glasses (as it turns out, the croco-diamond had mistaken them for his part of his secret agent disguise, which he found in his picnic basket while retrieving the dragon fruit). And Ms. Kaeli said that the croco-diamond could come back to school again, for story time.

 After lunch Marie, wrapped in the croco-diamond’s sash, fell asleep on the bean bags while the croco-diamond picked up all the toys.

And he did it very quietly.

never invite me to a christmas party unless you want santa set on fire

We had our work christmas party today.

The party was about 30 of us in my manager's condo. There was a nice christmas cake, which I wanted to eat. My colleagues Y and J dared me to eat the santa on the christmas cake (which had not been cut yet). They said it was edible. So I carefully pulled santa from the cake and tried to bite his head off but only managed to scrape his face off. What ever the santa was made of, it was a pretty hard substance.  Then the serial murderer consultant said "you're eating plastic!" and I was like "bite his feet off - it's definitely sugar". He took the santa and said "I'll scrape some of his feet off but I'm not going to bite it because I have a lot of crowns."

My colleague W said "I'll bite it" and he bit off santa's back pack. Then Y bit his shoes off. They said the santa was sugar. Then the brit sloppily pulled santa's sleigh off the cake (totally damaging the rest of the decorations on the cake) and bit it in half (it sounded like some of his teeth broke). He had a big blob of white icing on his face so Y made fun of him, and the brit wiped it off of his face and threw it on my leg.

A contained food fight sort of ensued. I stood by the wall.

The brit kept saying "you ate plastic! you ate plastic!" so I said "if the santa is plastic we can tell by setting him on fire". Which the brit did. Santa was definitely sugar. 

I like parties where we can set things on fire.

Around midnight my manager was like "get the fuck out of my house!" (in a joking way). Best party I've been to in a long time.

Santa with the scraped off face before we set him on fire.

croco, continued, with a sad story about a hunt for a missing button

(note that Marie doesn't like the quinoa snacks served at her school - I had to destroy them somehow in the story)

She thought for a few seconds, and then stood up on her desk. Then she shouted as loud as she could, “YOU DIDN’T ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

At this all the commotion in the room stopped. Toys fell to the floor. Crayons were gently put back on desks. Johan, who had left the playloft, stopped throwing the quinoa snacks in the goldfish bowl.

The croco-diamond, who had construction paper butterflies stuck to his jeweled spine and glitter on his head, stopped dancing and throwing things too.

“What ever is she talking about?” asked the croco-diamond.

“I don’t know. Can I keep your bongos?” asked Johan.

Everyone stared at Marie expectantly.

“Ms. Kaeli asked what we would do. Would you help the chrysalis out of the cocoon or not?”

“Are you asking me?” asked the croco-diamond. “The answer is obvious. I would not help the chrysalis. Croco-diamonds do not help people. Since we are royalty, people help us.

In any case, helping people can only end badly. Once my uncle, I remember this as if it happened yesterday, was enlisted to help Lord Fangerly of Elsmuck, or, wait, was it his brother Lord Socksworth of Shutterdam? It’s not important.

In any case Lord Fangerly, or Lord Socksworth, I’ve said I don’t remember, had lost a button while cycling through the moors…or perhaps it was climbing Sgor an Lochain Uaine, which, I’m sure you know, is the fifth highest mountain in Scotland, in Cairngorms…”

“Croc,” said Marie.

“And while looking for the button my dear uncle, who was quite precious to all, but especially to me as he was mentoring me on fractal theory, well, as luck would have it, somehow he managed to fall into an abysm, which, as you know, is a hole that has no bottom, so he is still falling today. But he does manage to write home quite often and has found many interesting things in the abysm, including a kimono. He says it is quite comfortable to wear a kimono if one must be in a constant state of falling. And, we’ve found we can deliver things to him by throwing them in the abysm using a complicated system to control the falling. I, of course, was instrumental in devising aforementioned system. I’m good at physics.

His family throws him a new book every few days. Besides math my uncle is quite fond of the sciences and various periodicals. And my cousin, who is a great gourmand, throws my uncle meals, and has worked out, through various physics formulas, a method for delivering the meals right at the hour of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My uncle did enjoy a fine steak, but, as it turns out with abysms, sandwiches and meat balls fall faster so sometimes the steak…”

“Croc!” said Marie, but louder this time.

“And though my uncle was quite fond of peas, they just don’t fall correctly. Nor feather pillows, which we have tried to deliver many times, unsuccessfully.  They tend to return as a spray of feathers and some tattered cloth. Einstein may have solved this problem but we are only now just reading his unpublished notebooks. The feather pillows will take time.

One can only be grateful he fell into an abysm and not a schism. Or a crack. Or fissure. Or a rent or a rupture. Imagine if my uncle had fallen into a split or a sunder. Though I supposed one might not be able to fall into a sunder. And all for a button…”

“CROC!” yelled Marie.

The croco-diamond looked quite offended that he had been interrupted.

“It was a very IMPORTANT button. It held the coat closed, that is to say the coat of Lord Fangerly. Or Socksworth. I wish I could remember.”

“Children!” said Ms. Kaeli. “This interruption has been…interesting…and perhaps… educational. But I would request everyone return to their seats so we can finish the story and see what happens to the chrysalis. Croco-diamond?”

“At your service!” said the croco-diamond, and he slightly bowed toward Ms. Kaeli. Some glitter fell from his head.

“I have a suggestion. Why don’t you finish reading the story to the children?”

“What a wonderful idea. I do have a fine voice. I can sing and have often been asked to read the speeches of kings who have not such a nice voice as mine and the need to sound royal. I often have been disguised as a king, and, dressed as a king, given speeches to hundreds. Yes, thousands of people. In particular I remember a speech I gave disguised as King Umblebumble, of the Feiganbaum clan, in the upper swath of what is now referred to as the territories of…”

“Croc!” said Ms. Kaeli, who might have been about to lose her temper, if Ms. Kaeli ever lost her temper. “PLEASE read the story.”

She handed the croco-diamond a book, though Ms. Kaeli had been telling the story without a book. One NEVER asks a croco-diamond to tell a story unless one also gives the croco-diamond the book that contains the story. Else the croco-diamond may end up telling some story that’s entirely different from the story he was supposed to tell.

“Ahem. The print is quite small. Let me get my glasses. Johan?”

Johan ran to the picnic basket, opened it, and pulled out the stop sign, which was no longer flashing as the solar batteries had died. He also removed a chess board, a china salad bowl, two sets of silverware, a banana, a pair of croc-o-socks, the fifth book in the poggly woggly adventure series, a mirror, what appeared to be a half completed science experiment involving rust rates of nails, bunny slippers, a post card from Vancouver that was not in fact addressed to the croco-diamond and that appeared to be addressed to Marie’s father and perhaps stolen from Marie’s mailbox (though the post some times makes mistakes), a dive mask, and then, finally, the croco-diamond’s glasses.

The croco-diamond slowly put on his glasses, and then stared in the distance. “Get in character,” he whispered to himself, “the character of a man who might watch a chrysalis.”

Then he said “To remind you of where we are in the story, I will give a summary. A man has found a cocoon in the woods, and, for reasons not yet revealed in the story, he has taken the cocoon home. The man has claimed he wants to watch the chrysalis turn into a butterfly, but should we believe that? One may never know why a person does what a person does. For example, the other day, I was brushing my teeth, and I suddenly wondered, “What if I brushed my teeth while doing a headstand? So I began to…”

Ms. Kaeli, who was taking quinoa snacks out of the gold fish tank, interrupted. “MR. CROCO-DIAMOND, please proceed with the story.” And then said, in a manner one normally would not associate with Ms. Kaeli, “Or I will order more quinoa snacks to be brought to this room. And you will have to eat them. ALL of them.”

At this the croco-diamond looked scared. “Perhaps, Ms. Kaeli, I am the only one to notice that the important part of the word quinoa is “no”. Which would imply, “no, I don’t want to eat quinoa snacks.”

“THEN READ THE STORY!” Ms. Kaeli, ahem, said. Perhaps a bit louder than she usually said things.

croco-diamond updates

I've updated the earlier two postings for the new croco-diamond story. Changes include clarifying some parts of the story that sucked and more details about the flying mountain made of mashed potatoes.

just finished decorating for Christmas!

So. That's it for decorations. I'm a jew and a minimalist, what more do you want from me?

weed less

I walk around downtown for at least two hours every day (usually at lunch and then right after I'm done with work).

How weird is this?

There were always people smoking pot on the street (especially 16th street mall). Now, since it's been legalized, I haven't seen a single person smoking pot downtown.

Maybe because it's legal it's not fun anymore?

And for those of you who think it should be illegal to smoke pot, what's your position on gun control? Because, some day, that might be your kid's school that gets shot all to fuck.

You tax the shit out of cigarette because they'll kill you. And alcohol. Why not bullets?

croco-diamond redux, part 2

(Johan is Marie's friend. I included him because my friend included the following in his email giving me limited information about Marie's school: "She likes the playloft. When Johan goes crazy it's pretty funny (Johan is her little friend)")

SO off they went to Marie’s classroom, which was filled with children, paints, pots of glue, tape, stickers, clay, and two goldfish. The croco-diamond looked longingly at the goldfish and said “Ooh, I love sushi.” Marie told him under no circumstances would he be allowed to eat the goldfish.

The children looked at the croco-diamond with curiosity. Though he had taken his goggles off, he was still wearing a pilot’s scarf, and was carrying a flashing red picnic basket. And rather than taking a seat with the children, he was proceeding to the front of the classroom where Ms. Kaeli normally sat.

“Children, children!” shouted the croco-diamond, though there was no need to shout because the children were silently staring at him. Most had been unaware that there was a croco-diamond living in Canmore. “First, I will take questions concerning myself, and croco-diamonds of all the worlds. Then we will move to the musical, a song I wrote myself, based on a poem which I first heard while just a small croco-diamond. We often refer to them in the diminutive, as croco-didis, but of course you wouldn’t have known that until just this moment. I heard it while visiting the Viscount of Snowberry, on the flying mountain of Nepalitani, which soars high into the clouds like a fortress flying here and there, always changing its location. The mountain is made of spaghetti and is 8,000 meters tall, and all the children who live there sing songs and eat cookies, a particular type of cookie, in fact, a cookie made from the finest flour picked at dawn by indigenous people known as the Sherpalopolus opolopolus opolopoli…yes, I believe I have that correct, it’s quite a long word, it’s been years since I’ve said it, I think it was last mentioned while I was having a late breakfast with the raj of Blanchworth…”

“Excuse me,” said Ms. Kaeli, who had been standing behind the croco-diamond waiting for him to stop talking, until she realized he was never going to stop talking. “I am the teacher, and and though your story of a flying mountain made of spaghetti is interesting, we have to get started on our lesson.”

(We should note here that the flying mountain Nepalitani actually is not made of spaghetti, but is a giant pile of mashed potatoes, built, as the legend goes, by children who don’t like mashed potatoes. Aforementioned children threw their mashed potatoes out the window until one day, well, there was a big mountain of mashed potatoes. We are not sure how the mountain is able to fly, but some day, as you look out your window, you might see a gigantic pile of mashed potatoes passing by, in the sky. Do not be afraid.)

 “Yes, yes, educating young minds is MOST important. But first, and SLIGHTLY MORE IMPORTANT, are the questions these young minds must have about myself, which is to say, ME. So children, feel free to ask questions and I will tell you all about myself. I’m quite interesting, as you will find, and I have gathered many facts from all of my travels.”

But in the time the Croco-diamond had been speaking about mountains made of spaghetti that soar high into the clouds (though we now know he should have said mashed potatoes), Marie had sent around a note to the entire class suggesting that anyone who asked the Croco-diamond a question would get a serious thumping at lunch time. 

No one asked a question.

Puzzled by this behavior, the Croco-diamond reached into his picnic basket and, without the goggles, was almost blinded by the flashing red stop sign, but still managed to find his bongos, which he pulled out. “I sense that you children are too intimidated to ask questions of someone as great as myself. So we’ll move on to the next part of the program, which is the musical.  I will play these small drums and sing for you a song I wrote called “Mongo in the Congo,” which celebrates the equatorial forest dwellers of the Congo. The mongo people are made up of many tribes, including Bolia, Bokote, Bongandu, Iyaelima, Konda, Mbole, Nkutu, Ntomba, Songomeno, Tetela-Kusu, Bakutu, Boyela…”

“Mr. Croco-diamond,” said Marie’s teacher.

“There are four more tribes,” said the Croco-diamond, who was obviously not pleased he had been interrupted.

“If you would be so kind, I need to get on with the lessons for the day. Perhaps we can make some more time for you this afternoon. Please have a seat.”

“And so, children, this concludes the musical part of our program. I will be taking a break to collect my thoughts. Thank you for your attention. I will be signing autographs at lunch.”

The croco-diamond regally walked to the back of the classroom, where there happened to be some bean bags. He carefully arranged the bean bags and plopped down on them, making a POOF and a PUFF sound. Marie was thankful that he closed his eyes and appeared to have fallen asleep.

Ms. Kaeli gave the students construction paper so they could make butterflies during story time. Normally it would have been morning circle time, but after the croco-diamond had disrupted class Ms. Kaeli decided it might be best to tell a story. Though she was only slightly familiar with croco-diamonds, she knew one should never invite a croco-diamond to morning circle unless one had ALL DAY for morning circle. Croco-diamonds tend to talk a lot.

“Once upon a time,” said Ms. Kaeli, “there was a man who loved every creature in all the worlds…”

SNORT, SNORE.

All the children looked to the back of the classroom where the Croco-diamond lay on the bean bags, snoring.

“This man,” continued Ms. Kaeli, “loved spiders, snakes, ardvarks, spotted turtles…”

“Croco-diamonds,” said a quiet voice from the back of the classroom, though none could tell who it was.

“And Croco-diamonds,” said Ms. Kaeli. “One day this man was walking through the woods and he found a cocoon. He took the cocoon home so he could watch it transform into a…”

POOSH, POOF, FOOP went the bean bags as the Croco-diamond shifted his position on the bean bags. 

 “…butterfly.”

SNOOOOOOZ went the Croco-diamond. 

“Ahem.” Said Ms. Kaeli.

Marie was so embarrassed that she focused on making her butterfly and ignored the Croco-diamond. She decided at lunch she would say that she had just met him, that day, and that he had followed her to school even though she tried to stop him. 

Ms. Kaeli continued, “As the man watched the cocoon he noticed that the chrysalis…”

“That’s a baby butterfly,” came a voice from the back of the room, which might have been the croco-diamond, except that it couldn’t have been because he was asleep.

“Thank you,” said Ms. Kaeli. “A chrysalis is a baby butterfly. He noticed the chrysalis was struggling to get out of its cocoon. The man wondered what he should do. Should he help the chrysalis? What do you think?”

Johan raised his hand and said. “I think we should let the croco-diamond play his bongos.”

“I most certainly agree,” said a voice in the back of the room that seemed to be coming from near the fish tank. Marie hoped that the croco-diamond was still asleep and not trying to eat the fish but she was afraid to look. 

Then there was a sudden PUFF PLOP FLUFF from the back of the room. A bright flashing red light appeared and disappeared as the lid for the picnic basket closed with a thump. 

“Oh no!” thought Marie. “He opened his picnic basket!”

BUT.

Iit WASN’T the croco-diamond who had opened the picnic basket. It was…

…Johan…

….and HE HAD THE CROCO-DIAMOND’S BONGOS.

“Who CARES about baby butterflies! I’M GOING TO PLAY THE BONGOS!” yelled Johan. He ran up into the playloft and began wildly beating the bongos.

Then, as if in a trance, the croco-diamond rose up from the bean bags and began to do what might have been some kind of African tribal dance. He took his pilot’s scarf and wrapped it like a turban around his head. 

He began to chant:

Croco-diamonds are cool!

I went to school!

With Marie! As you can see!

And as you know!

It’s time for the croco-diamond show!

Everybody gather ‘round!

And watch the croco-diamond get down!

The croco-diamond danced over to his picnic basket and pulled out the flashing stop sign. He waved it over his head and began to dance around the children.

Give it up for the croco-diamond!

Throw your butterflies in the air!

And dance like you just don’t care!

All the children began throwing their paper butterflies in the air. Johan, who couldn’t reach his butterfly since it was downstairs and he was in the playloft, threw a basket of dolls instead. And then some other toys. And furniture. All the while yelling “CROCO-DIAMONDS ARE COOL!!!!!”

 The classroom was complete chaos! Ms. Kaeli looked like she was going to cry, and all the children were running around the desks throwing construction paper, crayons, bottles of glue, and pencils. The croco-diamond had found the classroom supply of glitter and was sprinkling it on all the children saying, “I anoint you an honorary croco-diamond!” 

 And it was all Marie’s fault for bringing the croco-diamond to school!

Marie wanted to crawl under her chair until the school day was over. The only good thing that could possibly come out of the situation was for the tray of quinoa snacks to get knocked on the floor so no one would have to eat them.

MARIE had to think FAST! What was she going to do to restore order to the classroom???