I'm behind the times on this, ridiculously, but I feel like I have to note something about David Foster Wallace's death. I mean, all the obvious human and compassionate reasons aside, most of this blog content is devoted to talking about Infinite Jest. The fact that I "discovered" David Foster Wallace this summer only to have news of his suicide shock me this fall is -- strange and queasy. But then, I suppose it's the heart of narcissism to think there's something especially weird about this. Lots of people connected to his work, and I'm sure there were many in the same or similar situation.
People have been talking about it a lot obviously, and the theme that's come up with many writer friends is the absurdity of the notion that if you achieve a certain degree of success as a writer, you'll automatically feel validated and happy. It's so easy to think that as soon as you write a best-selling novel or get a Macarthur grant, suddenly you'll never fell hollow or despairing about your self worth, ever again. And more than the worldly things, if you get to a DFW point where your work is so respected and means so much to so many people...surely that will be enough, you think? Surely that's enough to get you out of bed? And this is a particularly shocking reminder how untrue that is.
But I think Jake brings up the most moving and troubling point here. To be a writer, you take it as a given that writing and analyzing and contemplating despair and darkness is purging and elevating -- that there's something worthwhile and healthy in the sensitive contemplation of human frailty. Events like this make you question that assumption. I can't help thinking of a quote I heard from John Cleese (of all people) a long time ago, when he said it was nonsense to think making art about your problems helped those problems -- why then did so many artist obsess about the same things over and over? Write the same play or book over and over? And that's a good point.
This blog is named after a Dorothy Parker poem, Thought for a Sunshiney Morning, that goes like this (from memory, forgive me if a word or two is wrong):
It costs me neither a stab nor squirm
To step perchance upon a worm.
"Ah ha my little dear, " I say
"Your clan will pay me back someday."
Dorothy Parker is another favorite writer of mine and, distressingly, another depressed and prone-to-addiction writer. She wrote many a poem and story about suicide. However, she never did it: she died a very old drunk lady in a house full of cats.
That strikes me as a better way to go.
RIP, DFW and DP.
The next post will be cheerful and full of pictures of food.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I be UTNE famous!
My lovely friend J. (who could that be?) linked to me in his Utne blog about Sarah Haskins.
Spread the good word:
http://www.utne.com/2008-09-16/Media/Target-Women-Takes-Aim-at-Insipid-Pop-Culture.aspx?blogid=34
So I feel like I need to put something new up here to justify the link and also because I miss the blog. Also because I'm conceited and I enjoy the fact that people tell me they've missed me posting. Yay, Narcissism! Love me! Love me!
More about this to come, but check these guys out, too. You can read my review here.
Peace!
Spread the good word:
http://www.utne.com/2008-09-
So I feel like I need to put something new up here to justify the link and also because I miss the blog. Also because I'm conceited and I enjoy the fact that people tell me they've missed me posting. Yay, Narcissism! Love me! Love me!
More about this to come, but check these guys out, too. You can read my review here.
Peace!
Monday, July 28, 2008
That's some BULLSHIT
Last day up at the cottage. We head down to Toronto in a couple hours, then I'm in Toronto for a few days. Back in Minni-snaps on Thursday night.
I'm totally bummed to be leaving (see: title). My uncle and aunt keep congratulating me on having survived so much time up here on my own (there was a full two weeks they weren't here, and I've been here for a month, total), but honestly, I don't feel like I've been that solitary. I've enjoyed the time alone, I've read a lot, written a lot (not as much as I wanted, but then, one never does...), swum and biked and cooked a lot (pictures forthcoming) and Taken Stock a lot, and the solitude never felt weird or oppressive. And thanks to high-speed internet and the occasional phone conversation, I've been in touch with a lot of friends and it feels like due the to the distance or all the free time I've had up here, the conversations I've had with people have been meaningful: we've actually emailed and talked About Stuff, and I've caught up with some people I've haven't talked to in a while. Plus the lack of social time has made me appreciate my friends and look forward to spending time with them. I feel like the time here has deepened my connections to people, not severed them. I've spent a lot of time with my uncle and aunt and realized that I need to spend more time with my Canadian family. I like to complain/boast about being an only child with no cousins, but the truth is, I _do_ have family, and I should take more advantage of it.
Gosh, though, apparently being up here has made me maudlin.
It's time to go back to the flatland, though. I'm reading The Magic Mountain, which is about this dude, Hans, who goes up to visit his cousin at a retreat for people with TB, up in the mountains. He get so seduced by the orderly, reflective way of life that he sort of psychosomatically gets TB, too. He becomes addicted to leisure--a not particularly intellectual guy in the past, he's exposed to all these thinkers, all these different ideas about society, life, death, disease, the whole process of Taking Stock, in other words. He gets so wrapped up in it he becomes unfit for actual life, down below.
So I don't want to end up like old Hans. I do believe in the importance of quiet, of Taking Stock, of reading (reading, as DFW points out, is like the least lonely thing you can do, in a way -- it's a really intimate connection with another person's mind), of reflecting, of taking time to synthesize. But you need some action in your life, too. You can get too seduced by passivity, because the rewards of passivity can be great. After all, you need a lot of quiet and leisure, you need to spend a lot of time by yourself, if you want to write. I guess it's about having the discipline not to get too wrapped up in your own head; to make sure what you do has a connection to the world.
Or something. What do I know, anyway?
I'm totally bummed to be leaving (see: title). My uncle and aunt keep congratulating me on having survived so much time up here on my own (there was a full two weeks they weren't here, and I've been here for a month, total), but honestly, I don't feel like I've been that solitary. I've enjoyed the time alone, I've read a lot, written a lot (not as much as I wanted, but then, one never does...), swum and biked and cooked a lot (pictures forthcoming) and Taken Stock a lot, and the solitude never felt weird or oppressive. And thanks to high-speed internet and the occasional phone conversation, I've been in touch with a lot of friends and it feels like due the to the distance or all the free time I've had up here, the conversations I've had with people have been meaningful: we've actually emailed and talked About Stuff, and I've caught up with some people I've haven't talked to in a while. Plus the lack of social time has made me appreciate my friends and look forward to spending time with them. I feel like the time here has deepened my connections to people, not severed them. I've spent a lot of time with my uncle and aunt and realized that I need to spend more time with my Canadian family. I like to complain/boast about being an only child with no cousins, but the truth is, I _do_ have family, and I should take more advantage of it.
Gosh, though, apparently being up here has made me maudlin.
It's time to go back to the flatland, though. I'm reading The Magic Mountain, which is about this dude, Hans, who goes up to visit his cousin at a retreat for people with TB, up in the mountains. He get so seduced by the orderly, reflective way of life that he sort of psychosomatically gets TB, too. He becomes addicted to leisure--a not particularly intellectual guy in the past, he's exposed to all these thinkers, all these different ideas about society, life, death, disease, the whole process of Taking Stock, in other words. He gets so wrapped up in it he becomes unfit for actual life, down below.
So I don't want to end up like old Hans. I do believe in the importance of quiet, of Taking Stock, of reading (reading, as DFW points out, is like the least lonely thing you can do, in a way -- it's a really intimate connection with another person's mind), of reflecting, of taking time to synthesize. But you need some action in your life, too. You can get too seduced by passivity, because the rewards of passivity can be great. After all, you need a lot of quiet and leisure, you need to spend a lot of time by yourself, if you want to write. I guess it's about having the discipline not to get too wrapped up in your own head; to make sure what you do has a connection to the world.
Or something. What do I know, anyway?
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Writing: The Soundtrack
Had a good morning of writing so far today. 2 pages or so. Wrote four or so yesterday. So, instead of continuing on the productive streak, I thought I'd obsess briefly about music.
In a tribute to the power of displacement behavior, I've created what I believe to be the perfect writing soundtrack. I used to be a big needer of quiet: perfect silence had reign all around me for me to write. Now, I honestly crave some background noise. If the noise is created by me--i.e., music I have specifically chosen and associate with writing--this is much better than random noises that I can't control.
The current soundtrack is a little short, but otherwise I think awesome. The songs are all songs that a) have some thematic connection to writing or b) aren't so distracting that they can't fade beautifully and atmospherically into the back of my consciousness. As anyone who knows me knows, I like melancholy songs, damp with sonic atmosphere, bleating guitars, plincky-plonky piano solos and trembling voices. For writing, this is perfect. I don't have to feel apologetic for my sad mixes. I tend to make playlists entitled "Spring Happy Mix" only to put the songs on and have friends say, "What is this? The wrist-slitting soundtrack?" But for writing I can get as quiet as I like.
1) Cake, "Open Book." Pretty obvious choice, seeing as how it begins, "She's writing, she's writing, she's writing a novel..." But my first play was called Open Book and...whatever.
2) The Decemberists, "The Engine Driver." Another obvious choice, seeing as how the chorus runs "I am a writer, a writer of fictions..."
3) Devendra Banhart, "At the Hop." If you read gossip magazines, you'll have seen Natalie Portman with her new boyfriend, a bearded and scruffy hipster who looks chic-ly homeless. No one seems to get the relationship, but upon hearing that the boy in question was the author of this song, I got it. This song was on a mix Cybele gave me -- I don't know any of his other music, nor do I want to, because this song breaks my heart. And it fits on my writing mix, because the lyrics are all about the break between imagination and reality (my Great Theme) -- the singer keeps exhorting his love-person to imagine him in various impossible ways: "Pack me in your suitcase...cook me in your breakfast..." He admits that he won't "stop all of my pretending/that's you'll come home/you'll be coming home soon."
4) Neutral Milk Hotel, "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." Okay, I can't think how this has to do with writing. It's just moody and atmospheric.
5) Radiohead, "All I Need." I was never a big Radiohead fan, but "In Rainbows" is not only a great album, but it's the best album I've come across to write to. It's lovely without being over-the-top and I've done so much writing to this song in particular. It doesn't hurt that the song is also Dead Sexy.
6) Rufus Wainwright, "Imaginary Love." Forget "Poses" or the later stuff. I'm all about his debut, self-titled album. And this song fits in the writing mix because of the "Imaginary" theme...and it's also a dope song. And he doesn't mumble! As much.
7) Ryan Adams, "Sylvia Plath." On the writing playlist for the literary reference, obvs, and also for the Moody and Atmospheric qualities. It's from the "Gold" album and is quite different from his usual guitar-heavy-country-blues-influenced stuff (which I also love). There's just a piano and some strings. The song isn't about Sylvia Plath so much as Adam's evocation of "a Sylvia Plath" that he "wishes" he had: "busted tooth and a smile...with cigarette ashes in her drink/the kind that goes out/and then sleeps for a week." There's something incredibly charming about his imaginary lady: she's a mess, but she's awesome. The fantasy gets more elaborate: "Maybe she'd take me to France/Or maybe to Spain/She'd ask me to dance/In a mansion on the top of hill/She'd ash on the carpet/and slip me a pill/And she'd get me pretty loaded on gin." And maybe because I drink a lot of gin-and-tonics up at the cottage, and because I discovered this song up at the cottage, and maybe because I used to ash into my drinks when I smoked, and mostly because of this part: "And she and I/would sleep on a boat/and swim in the sea without clothes/with rain falling fast on the sea/as she was swimming away, she'd be winking at me/Telling me that it would be all be okay/On the horizon and fading away/And I'd swim to the boat and I'd laugh/Gotta get me a Sylvia Plath" this song really reminds me of being up at the cottage, going skinny dipping, going out in the boat. I'm pretty sure the swimming part is actually about death, but nevertheless, the song makes me feel happy and peaceful, not sad at all.
8) Modest Mouse, "Dance Hall." Name check!: "Woke up this morning/Seemed to me/That every night turns out to be/ A little bit more like Bukowski/And yeah I know he's a pretty good read/but God who'd want to be...such an asshole." Says it all.
9) New Order, "Age of Consent." Okay, I just like this song.
10) Radiohead, "Videotape." Also great for writing to. And it sort of fits! "When I'm at the pearly gates/This'll be on my videotape." Good song to end a mix to.
So obviously I'm procrastinating. I've also made several mixes for friends: Jake (belated birthday present -- also, guilt trip. Give me music!); Min (I made you a cheerful mix, I swear); and Dan. Anyone else want one?
In a tribute to the power of displacement behavior, I've created what I believe to be the perfect writing soundtrack. I used to be a big needer of quiet: perfect silence had reign all around me for me to write. Now, I honestly crave some background noise. If the noise is created by me--i.e., music I have specifically chosen and associate with writing--this is much better than random noises that I can't control.
The current soundtrack is a little short, but otherwise I think awesome. The songs are all songs that a) have some thematic connection to writing or b) aren't so distracting that they can't fade beautifully and atmospherically into the back of my consciousness. As anyone who knows me knows, I like melancholy songs, damp with sonic atmosphere, bleating guitars, plincky-plonky piano solos and trembling voices. For writing, this is perfect. I don't have to feel apologetic for my sad mixes. I tend to make playlists entitled "Spring Happy Mix" only to put the songs on and have friends say, "What is this? The wrist-slitting soundtrack?" But for writing I can get as quiet as I like.
1) Cake, "Open Book." Pretty obvious choice, seeing as how it begins, "She's writing, she's writing, she's writing a novel..." But my first play was called Open Book and...whatever.
2) The Decemberists, "The Engine Driver." Another obvious choice, seeing as how the chorus runs "I am a writer, a writer of fictions..."
3) Devendra Banhart, "At the Hop." If you read gossip magazines, you'll have seen Natalie Portman with her new boyfriend, a bearded and scruffy hipster who looks chic-ly homeless. No one seems to get the relationship, but upon hearing that the boy in question was the author of this song, I got it. This song was on a mix Cybele gave me -- I don't know any of his other music, nor do I want to, because this song breaks my heart. And it fits on my writing mix, because the lyrics are all about the break between imagination and reality (my Great Theme) -- the singer keeps exhorting his love-person to imagine him in various impossible ways: "Pack me in your suitcase...cook me in your breakfast..." He admits that he won't "stop all of my pretending/that's you'll come home/you'll be coming home soon."
4) Neutral Milk Hotel, "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." Okay, I can't think how this has to do with writing. It's just moody and atmospheric.
5) Radiohead, "All I Need." I was never a big Radiohead fan, but "In Rainbows" is not only a great album, but it's the best album I've come across to write to. It's lovely without being over-the-top and I've done so much writing to this song in particular. It doesn't hurt that the song is also Dead Sexy.
6) Rufus Wainwright, "Imaginary Love." Forget "Poses" or the later stuff. I'm all about his debut, self-titled album. And this song fits in the writing mix because of the "Imaginary" theme...and it's also a dope song. And he doesn't mumble! As much.
7) Ryan Adams, "Sylvia Plath." On the writing playlist for the literary reference, obvs, and also for the Moody and Atmospheric qualities. It's from the "Gold" album and is quite different from his usual guitar-heavy-country-blues-influenced stuff (which I also love). There's just a piano and some strings. The song isn't about Sylvia Plath so much as Adam's evocation of "a Sylvia Plath" that he "wishes" he had: "busted tooth and a smile...with cigarette ashes in her drink/the kind that goes out/and then sleeps for a week." There's something incredibly charming about his imaginary lady: she's a mess, but she's awesome. The fantasy gets more elaborate: "Maybe she'd take me to France/Or maybe to Spain/She'd ask me to dance/In a mansion on the top of hill/She'd ash on the carpet/and slip me a pill/And she'd get me pretty loaded on gin." And maybe because I drink a lot of gin-and-tonics up at the cottage, and because I discovered this song up at the cottage, and maybe because I used to ash into my drinks when I smoked, and mostly because of this part: "And she and I/would sleep on a boat/and swim in the sea without clothes/with rain falling fast on the sea/as she was swimming away, she'd be winking at me/Telling me that it would be all be okay/On the horizon and fading away/And I'd swim to the boat and I'd laugh/Gotta get me a Sylvia Plath" this song really reminds me of being up at the cottage, going skinny dipping, going out in the boat. I'm pretty sure the swimming part is actually about death, but nevertheless, the song makes me feel happy and peaceful, not sad at all.
8) Modest Mouse, "Dance Hall." Name check!: "Woke up this morning/Seemed to me/That every night turns out to be/ A little bit more like Bukowski/And yeah I know he's a pretty good read/but God who'd want to be...such an asshole." Says it all.
9) New Order, "Age of Consent." Okay, I just like this song.
10) Radiohead, "Videotape." Also great for writing to. And it sort of fits! "When I'm at the pearly gates/This'll be on my videotape." Good song to end a mix to.
So obviously I'm procrastinating. I've also made several mixes for friends: Jake (belated birthday present -- also, guilt trip. Give me music!); Min (I made you a cheerful mix, I swear); and Dan. Anyone else want one?
Friday, July 25, 2008
I am so SMRT
Although on a discussion over at Jake's, I repudiated the idea that authors wrote "difficult" books so that some people could "feel smart" I have to say that the experience of reading Infinite Jest has made me feel smart. I toughed out the rough beginning of a long book, and got into it; I feel like the points I've gotten from the book--judging from the secondary materials I've looked at, interviews with DFW, etc.--seem pretty close to "right" (for whatever that's worth); and the questions I was left with, plot-wise and theme-wise, seem to be the questions that most readers are left with, questions that seem to be quasi-deliberately left up in the air. DFW designed the book so it would be "thinky" but entertaining, and that's just how I found it: it made me think, it challenged me, but it was fun. It made me feel smart.
No, before you're all like "Oh, Easy O, you think you're so much smarter and better than everyone else," let me just say that, come on, I need things like IJ to make me feel smart. Let me share the following stories:
So, making coffee. Making coffee is not that hard. But hear this tragi-comic Catch-22 of making coffee: You need to make it before you've had your coffee. And, honestly, without coffee, I'm dumb. So very, very, very dumb. And I know coffee is #1 on the List of Stuff White People Like, but who are we kidding? If I was any whiter I'd be off the visible spectrum.
Things I have done trying to make coffee, in blurry coffee-less morning state:
1) Place unground beans directly in filter.
2) Put lid of coffee pot directly on filter. Ponder for several minutes why filter would not fit in machine with mysterious lid on it.
3) My uncle and aunt's coffee pot has this springloaded thing that the coffee drips out of. I couldn't figure out how to open it, and was too embarrassed to ask, so when making coffee by myself, I would stand there and hold the springloaded clasp open by hand. The other day I put the coffee on and wandered away, knowing full well the coffee was going to build up inside the filter. I got distracted by something, I don't know, my own navel or whatever, and when I went back to check on the coffee pot, found coffee overspreading the entire kitchen counter. When attempting to clean this up, I knocked the filter out of the machine entirely. Stared at mess, making something between whimper and a sob.
So you see, I need stuff like books to make me feel smart. I need all the help I can get.
No, before you're all like "Oh, Easy O, you think you're so much smarter and better than everyone else," let me just say that, come on, I need things like IJ to make me feel smart. Let me share the following stories:
So, making coffee. Making coffee is not that hard. But hear this tragi-comic Catch-22 of making coffee: You need to make it before you've had your coffee. And, honestly, without coffee, I'm dumb. So very, very, very dumb. And I know coffee is #1 on the List of Stuff White People Like, but who are we kidding? If I was any whiter I'd be off the visible spectrum.
Things I have done trying to make coffee, in blurry coffee-less morning state:
1) Place unground beans directly in filter.
2) Put lid of coffee pot directly on filter. Ponder for several minutes why filter would not fit in machine with mysterious lid on it.
3) My uncle and aunt's coffee pot has this springloaded thing that the coffee drips out of. I couldn't figure out how to open it, and was too embarrassed to ask, so when making coffee by myself, I would stand there and hold the springloaded clasp open by hand. The other day I put the coffee on and wandered away, knowing full well the coffee was going to build up inside the filter. I got distracted by something, I don't know, my own navel or whatever, and when I went back to check on the coffee pot, found coffee overspreading the entire kitchen counter. When attempting to clean this up, I knocked the filter out of the machine entirely. Stared at mess, making something between whimper and a sob.
So you see, I need stuff like books to make me feel smart. I need all the help I can get.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Ms. Difficulty
So I finished Infinite Jest and honestly I loved it.
In the spirit of affectionate snark, however, I do think that the main narrative thrust of the book can be summed up by this:
The title of this post is a nod to the fact that I'm reading several "difficult" books right now: finished IJ and I'm still trucking through The Magic Mountain. Got Ulysses sitting on the bedside table. It's weird, cause I'm not usually a "difficult book" person. Not that I'm not a difficult book person...you know what I mean. Right?
Don't worry, I still watch bad TV on the internet.
Cooking people: tips on making green beans? I'm making some with garlic and rosemary, I think. Also, re: banana bread, do you think, a la scones, that if you coated the outside of banana bread in some butter, it would produce a yummy, shiny exterior? Or would that be weird? I feel like my banana bread is always so dry.
Pages written yesterday: 4.75
Pages written today: TBD!!!
I finally biked all the way into Port Carling, to return a library book for my aunt. Port Sanfield (one mile away) has food but no booze or library or anything else really and is freakin' expensive. So far our neighbor has driven me to the IGA out at Port Carling twice to go grocery shopping, but I wanted to actually bike out there myself. So I did: about seven or eight miles, so about fourteen miles total. Is that actually a long bike ride? Or as a newbie to biking am I thinking I'm all bad ass for nothing much? I feel kinda wiped. My bike is also really old and pathetic and rusty and there are lots of hills. As I strained up several of them, my bike complaining and creaking and close to falling apart, someone on a speedy sports bike dressed in spandex would inevitably speed by in the opposite direction, as if mocking me.
In the spirit of affectionate snark, however, I do think that the main narrative thrust of the book can be summed up by this:
The title of this post is a nod to the fact that I'm reading several "difficult" books right now: finished IJ and I'm still trucking through The Magic Mountain. Got Ulysses sitting on the bedside table. It's weird, cause I'm not usually a "difficult book" person. Not that I'm not a difficult book person...you know what I mean. Right?
Don't worry, I still watch bad TV on the internet.
Cooking people: tips on making green beans? I'm making some with garlic and rosemary, I think. Also, re: banana bread, do you think, a la scones, that if you coated the outside of banana bread in some butter, it would produce a yummy, shiny exterior? Or would that be weird? I feel like my banana bread is always so dry.
Pages written yesterday: 4.75
Pages written today: TBD!!!
I finally biked all the way into Port Carling, to return a library book for my aunt. Port Sanfield (one mile away) has food but no booze or library or anything else really and is freakin' expensive. So far our neighbor has driven me to the IGA out at Port Carling twice to go grocery shopping, but I wanted to actually bike out there myself. So I did: about seven or eight miles, so about fourteen miles total. Is that actually a long bike ride? Or as a newbie to biking am I thinking I'm all bad ass for nothing much? I feel kinda wiped. My bike is also really old and pathetic and rusty and there are lots of hills. As I strained up several of them, my bike complaining and creaking and close to falling apart, someone on a speedy sports bike dressed in spandex would inevitably speed by in the opposite direction, as if mocking me.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Found out I'm getting a story published here, which is "chuffing." They actually sent me galleys! (just a pdf, but still).
Wrote nine pages the other day, although two of them were re-appropriated old stuff.
It's been storming, off and on. My sleep cycle is all off and weird.
Thinking about the new story.
Just made some banana bread. I discovered the we don't have a loaf pan -- there's absolutely everything else. A bundt pan. Cookie sheets. Muffin tins. Etc. No loaf pan. So I divided up the batter into two pie tins. I honestly don't know how they turned out. It's weird to see bread in a circular, lumpy shape. Plus, the oven here is really hot. The two half-batter-full pie tins only seemed to need to bake about half as long as the recipe called for, which I guess makes sense. They smell delicious and I was happy with the batter but I'm still nervous. We'll see. I guess I could have put all the batter into one pie tin, but I was worried it would rise too high.
And this has been today's edition of "the nervous cook." Where L. fucks something up in a recipe, tries to fix it, futzes nervously, and it _usually_ works out okay.
I'm charmed by Morgan's request that I write about my May Term class, as I am charmed by most thing Miss M. does. However, Morgan was fortunate enough to be out of town while I was teaching, otherwise she would have realized that talking to me during that time period tended to go like this:
Friend: How's it going?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch --made some mistakes on the first day, which got things off on the wrong foot -- some good discussions though -- bitch bitch bitch
Friend: So what else is going on with you, besides the class?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch
Friend: What do you think of the presidential campaigns?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch
Friend: Isn't the sky a pretty shade of blue?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch
So, yeah, basically it took over my brain for the whole three weeks. I learned _so much_: about the subject matter, about teaching, about designing a class. But it was stressful, some things went very wrong (though some went very right) and it was an odd mix of students (though many were great).
Wrote nine pages the other day, although two of them were re-appropriated old stuff.
It's been storming, off and on. My sleep cycle is all off and weird.
Thinking about the new story.
Just made some banana bread. I discovered the we don't have a loaf pan -- there's absolutely everything else. A bundt pan. Cookie sheets. Muffin tins. Etc. No loaf pan. So I divided up the batter into two pie tins. I honestly don't know how they turned out. It's weird to see bread in a circular, lumpy shape. Plus, the oven here is really hot. The two half-batter-full pie tins only seemed to need to bake about half as long as the recipe called for, which I guess makes sense. They smell delicious and I was happy with the batter but I'm still nervous. We'll see. I guess I could have put all the batter into one pie tin, but I was worried it would rise too high.
And this has been today's edition of "the nervous cook." Where L. fucks something up in a recipe, tries to fix it, futzes nervously, and it _usually_ works out okay.
I'm charmed by Morgan's request that I write about my May Term class, as I am charmed by most thing Miss M. does. However, Morgan was fortunate enough to be out of town while I was teaching, otherwise she would have realized that talking to me during that time period tended to go like this:
Friend: How's it going?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch --made some mistakes on the first day, which got things off on the wrong foot -- some good discussions though -- bitch bitch bitch
Friend: So what else is going on with you, besides the class?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch
Friend: What do you think of the presidential campaigns?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch
Friend: Isn't the sky a pretty shade of blue?
Me: Bitch about May Term class -- I'm so stressed -- class dynamics -- so much photo-copying -- four hours of teaching -- four days a week! -- some fabulous students, but a weird mix -- did I design the class correctly? -- I'm taking it so personally because this class was my design -- frustrates the fuck out me when students don't like the reading, for example -- bitch bitch bitch -- after class I tend to go to my desk and sit in a corner and moan softly -- was the class even a good idea? -- some students loved it -- others admitted to taking it for an easy A and some credits -- attitude problems -- why am I such a spazz in front of the class? -- bitch bitch bitch
So, yeah, basically it took over my brain for the whole three weeks. I learned _so much_: about the subject matter, about teaching, about designing a class. But it was stressful, some things went very wrong (though some went very right) and it was an odd mix of students (though many were great).
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