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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Tuesday, May 3   >>


I love teachers. Especially the hot ones. But since today is a day of reflection and sentiment towards those who taught us to read, speak, add, and cuss, I'm going to take a look back on memory lane.

It shouldn't even be called a lane. It's so recent that it should be called, like, "memory... ruler." Yeah, I'm retarded.

The first teacher I ever had was in kindergarten. I skipped pre-school 'cos they said I was "too smart." Boy, if only they could see how the "prodigal" Hugo turned out to be.

Anywho, my K-teach (that's how it went down in ol' WILLIAMS ELEMENTARY, REPRESENT) was a total witch. She set up lanes with colored tape to organize the students. I felt like a sheep being pushed to the green tape everytime I wandered off by myself in the middle of some discussion.

Because she was old, impatient, and a total bitch, my teacher had a tendency to slam her Teacher's Edition textbook on the ground and scare us all until we were drowning in our own tears. I can still remember the shocking needles that jumped about in my little body everytime that fucking book fell. Bitch.

Then there are other teachers who I just admire. My fourth grade teacher was, like, America's Nicest Person. If there were an award, she definitely wouldn't be the Susan Lucci for that one. My kindergarten teacher would. HA!

Yeah, my fourth grade teacher rocked. She went by the name of Mrs. Gratke (am I violating a law by posting her last name?). She loved me, and boy was the feeling mutual. She thought I was a gem because I told her that I hated Bridges Over Madison County. She even wrote about that conversation in my yearbook.

Then I had one teacher in the 7th grade who went by the name of Mr. Vaughn and, well, was never there. He was some important teacher panel leader or whatever who had to travel, like, 90% of the school year. He was such a big, impatient, jolly fellow. I don't know why I remember him.

In the 8th grade, I met my favoritest teacher in the world. He obviously didn't teach me how to use the word "favorite" correctly, though. He was my pre-algebra teacher. That's when academic shit hit the fan for me and I needed desperate help in the field of math (I still do). Mr. Kang was his name, and although he had the funniest Korean accent in the world, he managed to connect to everyone in the class on such a down-to-earth level. He is the greatest and I will always miss his teaching methods ("OKAY, CLASS, WHO WANNA BE TEACHA FO' DA DAY?").

In 10th grade ... oh god. 10th grade. What a majorly fucked up academic year. That was the hardest year to date I've ever had with school. My hardest class was Chemistry with a woman named Mrs. Strong. I loved her as much as I hated her class. First of all, her class was terribly hard. Then, on September 11th when all hell was breaking loose, she kicked me out of the class for wearing an "offensive t-shirt that advocated multiple party sex".

She was a tough cookie. To lighten her up, I literally used to staple a $1 bill on my lab reports. For her birthday, a classmate of mine and I arranged a birthday party for her that cost about $35. Our only reward was a day that lacked the word "stoichiometry."

I also had a teacher in the 10th grade for geometry or something like that. He didn't speak really good English because he, too, was a Korean native. MAN, that guy loved and hated me. "HUGO, STOP TAWKING. HUGO, STOP FIDDADLING. HUGO, DO YO HOMEWOK. HUGO, BE GOOD BOY. HUGO, YOU STUPID!"

He called me stupid once. No lie. But he rocks.

There was another teacher in my 11th grade year who was new. He was such a bad teacher that he got fired immediately. THAT was funny because he was SUCH A DORK.

There's more. I mean, I can go on. I've had quite a time with every teacher I've ever had. I always did my best so that they would always remember me. Why? I don't know. I just did.

Teachers rock. They deserve more respect and more money. SOCIAL COMMENTARY, OUT.