Only connect

A wise man once told me that blogging is all about the linkage. With this in mind, I went into my profiles and changed my interests to "cabaret, singing, theatre" etc etc you get the idea, so that I could find related blogs to link to in that cute little side bar that so many experienced bloggers have. Most of the cabaret-lovers turned out to be gay men (no surprises there), and they tended to mean the musical rather than the art form, but hey, it's a start. And hell, one of them is the magnificently-named Big Fat Hairy Dave. Of course I'm linking to him. How could I not?

First off, let's see if this works ...

blogroll

My mate Tim told me to go to blogrolling.com, and somehow in the course of blog-browsing for links I cam across a site called Slow Children At Play, which is the diary of a special needs teacher. It's rather well-written and extremely interesting, as well as occasionally hilarious (see below). Here's an excerpt:

Entry 6: J.D. and his Dad: The Entrepreneurs

J.D. is a beefy 12 year old with an underbite, a pot belly, and huge canine incisors. He looks exactly like Pumbaa from the Lion King. Our consulting psychiatrist called him a "feral child", the first and only time I've ever heard him use that term.


(My image: I couldn't remember which one Pumbaa was and thought others might need a visual clue too)

One day we took J.D. and some other kids to the rec room where we have a pool table, ping pong and some donated video games. J.D. took one look at the pool table and yelled, "You rack'em, I crack'em!" and proceded to run the table. Every time he made a shot he would feign breaking the cue stick and drink a beer from the short end. That led me to strike up this conversation:

Me: Hey J.D., where'd you learn to play like that?
Him: The Showdown Tavern, baby!
Me: What are you doing when you pretend to drink something?
Him: Downing some beers, what the hell do you think?
Me: Aren't you a little young to be drinking beer?
Him: No. I drink whiskey, too. My dad wanted me to get wasted.
Me: Jesus Christ! Why?
Him: So I could kick some ass. I could kick anybody's ass.
Me: What are you talking about?
Him: Me and my dad made lots of money that way. If I was fighting, everybody had to bet on me cuz I got so crazy.
Me: Who did you fight?
Him: All the kids who lived there. I beat some ass.
Me: It sounds like a pit bull fighting ring.
Him: That's how it started, but our dog got his ass beat and died.

I ended the conversation after that little gem.

I am bloody glad I just ponce around in feathers for a (sort of) living. 'Nuff said.