Yoenis Cespedes, 2014 Home Run Derby Champion.

On 31 July (I initially typed August—so much for jumping the time and space continuum!), J and I were having lunch with my previous work supervisor in the Bay Area when she news-bombed us with the transfer of Yoenis Cespedes for Jon Lester (as well as Sam Fuld and Jonny Gomes; welcome back) over an old-school Italian-American food feast that consisted of dishes bigger than the size of my head. It was hard to believe that it was just a week ago that we witnessed Cespedes play one of his last games in the Coliseum. We were all dropped jaws and ‘SAY WHAT?!’ (responding to a bunch of ‘I KNOW!!!’).  And how uncanny was J’s timing to actually watch/read up on Moneyball to semi-understand how massive this transfer/deal means and then consider what the future holds for the A’s, Lester and Cespedes.

Still going to miss the guy though.

On a slightly not relative note, I found my old MVP tickets from the golden days of free games in my bedroom.  Apparently, I went to a game each month (hey escranesque)!  Got to love job perks.

26.07.14 Our little friend along the 18 Mile Road, Pebble Beach, CA.

I wonder what my new teacher is like, is it a he or she? Or both?
One of my children’s reflective writing at end of Year 2 prior to moving to my class

29.07.14 8-mile walk at Point Reyes Station

  • I just finished 2 days of transition with my first class ever.  (I teach Year 3.)
  • On the whole, they’re fine. On the second day, we have achieved writing the date in full on one line in the top-right hand corner. Hoorah.
  • They have a misguided perception that I am not strict.  Or mean.  Or horrible.
  • I’ve spent a lot of my time getting the classroom ready and realising I need to make about 10 new files for everything (did you say I needed a reading log?) Thank goodness for teacher assistants.
  • The worst though is when you printed and labeled everything and one of the children show up and his surname is a completely different name. And another child has two surnames floating around. But no, she is the same person. Great.
  • I need to get ready to fly on Monday.  Geez.


Good Memories <3

Miss Chan

You’re the best!

Thank you for all you have done for us.

Full Time: Fading Images of the World Cup 

The World Cup produces a lot of this-and-then-this. But it’s a month whose rhythm is set to those sudden bursts of amazement. Like a clock that chimes left-footed volleys; like a clock that chimes sobbing in the rain. But when you string those moments together, when you knit them into a narrative — I don’t know. Sometimes the moment before the beginning seems more magical than the moment after the ending, because watching sports is a special way of experiencing time.

(Brian Phillips, Grantland)

You can also follow him at runofplay.  He also posts a link to his article on Grantland but it doesn’t feature this amazing photograph.



There’s no single lens that can clarify what that match felt like or what it meant. Invoking Neymar doesn’t explain it, because Neymar doesn’t stop goals. Invoking Scolari’s tactical shortcomings or Brazil’s talent deficit or Germany’s program-building doesn’t explain it, because we knew about all of those things before the match, and no one, absolutely no one, saw this coming. (If anyone tells you that they saw this coming, don your hard hat and adopt emergency mansplaining-survival protocols at once.) It was everything it was. Eventually people will sift through it, and figure out what mattered most to them, and it will become a story. But for now, the only way to think about it that isn’t fatally distorting is to be a little overwhelmed by it. Anything else is thinking you hear a melody when someone hit all the keys on the piano simultaneously.

Because here’s what Germany did to Brazil over two hours in Belo Horizonte. They produced something so staggering that it still feels irreducible. They left the soccer world functionally speechless. They broke metaphor. They stunned hundreds of millions of people.

That’s one of your World Cup finalists.