The monkey sat on a pile of stones
And stared at the broken bone in his hand
And the stains of a Viennese quartet
Rang out across the land
The monkey looked up at the stars
And thought to himself
Memory is a stranger
History is for fools
And he cleaned his hands
In a pool of holy writing
Turned his back on the garden
And set out for the nearest town
I was teaching a low level class the other day for Merck. It was fill-in-the-blank with prepositions. The answer was 'the children played on the monkey bars.' My student Ana was like, "Monkey bar? Is that the name of the bar?"
I explained it was not a bar where monkeys could drink alcoholic beverages. Although, now i want to own a bar where the bartender is a chimpanzee that wears a fez and shakes margaritas. I think it would be a big hit.
One more class tomorrow. And it looks like i picked up my first private class that is a business (several students instead of one), which means i asked for a better hourly rate. Woo hoo!
We'll have a sleepy time time