(no subject)
My professors are all pretty charmingly nerdy, I'll give them that.
Film professor I knew, what with him being my advisor. Goofy enough. The film classes he apparently moved to massive lecture hall from the traditional twenty-ish sized group, meaning it's terribly impersonal now. Only other real point of contention is that he is much more a fan of, to borrow the political science term, quantifiable film studies (I believe his term is "historical poetics"), where I more prefer semi-cogent rants on ideology and subtext. Eh, but what can ya do. We are required to write a five-to-six page research paper in Film History I, but it's pretty much open-ended, as far as pre-WWII cinema goes. I would not be surprised if Buster Keaton made an appearance. Introduction to Film is tomorrow, and I wish I could test out of it, much as I'm not entirely displeased with the chance of seeing Citizen Kane and what not on a lecture hall screen.
Mythology professor looks like Batman villain Hugo Strange, only with (presumably) a better sense of humor. Limited to Greco-Roman mythology, however, alas.
Short story writing seems like it might be tense. I don't know why I didn't just assume it would be a workshop-styled class, but learning that today makes me massively uncomfortable. I have such trouble critiquing writing, dunno. The two five-to-ten page (single-spaced) stories we have to write will be the longest things I've written in a while, and the first fiction I've written in seven or eight years, so that otter be interesting. Genre fiction is allowed, nearly encouraged, so awkwardly trying to hide my laughter during a vampire or furry tale is not inconceivable. Awkwardly trying to hide my laughter should be well within my behavior in that class, however, because the professor speaks almost exactly like Christopher Walken, and nothing prepared me for that.
Not entirely happy with the way my life looks to be running for the next coupla months. Classes are classes, wotevs, but more schedule wise. I am still awkwardly awaking at eight or nine in the morning, leaving me with hours to kill before my classes start, at what is now my traditional nap time. This week public school is still out and those kids get all the bad shifts at work, but I close on two school-nights next week, one of which is also a school-day. Leave for class at twelve, get out at four-forty-five, drive straight to work and change and be ready to start at five-fifteen, leave there at approximately one, thirteen hours after the stuff-I-don't-want-to-do day began. Pass out, prolly open the next morning.
Might end up working every weekend night, too, despite my recorded preference against it (for the record, one of three to do so). If that becomes a habit, I shall be unfortunately forced to see how much weight I have to throw around, or just get another job, boo-hoo-hoo. Morning work, perhaps, if such exists.
ANYWAY.
Film professor I knew, what with him being my advisor. Goofy enough. The film classes he apparently moved to massive lecture hall from the traditional twenty-ish sized group, meaning it's terribly impersonal now. Only other real point of contention is that he is much more a fan of, to borrow the political science term, quantifiable film studies (I believe his term is "historical poetics"), where I more prefer semi-cogent rants on ideology and subtext. Eh, but what can ya do. We are required to write a five-to-six page research paper in Film History I, but it's pretty much open-ended, as far as pre-WWII cinema goes. I would not be surprised if Buster Keaton made an appearance. Introduction to Film is tomorrow, and I wish I could test out of it, much as I'm not entirely displeased with the chance of seeing Citizen Kane and what not on a lecture hall screen.
Mythology professor looks like Batman villain Hugo Strange, only with (presumably) a better sense of humor. Limited to Greco-Roman mythology, however, alas.
Short story writing seems like it might be tense. I don't know why I didn't just assume it would be a workshop-styled class, but learning that today makes me massively uncomfortable. I have such trouble critiquing writing, dunno. The two five-to-ten page (single-spaced) stories we have to write will be the longest things I've written in a while, and the first fiction I've written in seven or eight years, so that otter be interesting. Genre fiction is allowed, nearly encouraged, so awkwardly trying to hide my laughter during a vampire or furry tale is not inconceivable. Awkwardly trying to hide my laughter should be well within my behavior in that class, however, because the professor speaks almost exactly like Christopher Walken, and nothing prepared me for that.
Not entirely happy with the way my life looks to be running for the next coupla months. Classes are classes, wotevs, but more schedule wise. I am still awkwardly awaking at eight or nine in the morning, leaving me with hours to kill before my classes start, at what is now my traditional nap time. This week public school is still out and those kids get all the bad shifts at work, but I close on two school-nights next week, one of which is also a school-day. Leave for class at twelve, get out at four-forty-five, drive straight to work and change and be ready to start at five-fifteen, leave there at approximately one, thirteen hours after the stuff-I-don't-want-to-do day began. Pass out, prolly open the next morning.
Might end up working every weekend night, too, despite my recorded preference against it (for the record, one of three to do so). If that becomes a habit, I shall be unfortunately forced to see how much weight I have to throw around, or just get another job, boo-hoo-hoo. Morning work, perhaps, if such exists.
ANYWAY.