Hell is an elaborate lasagna with popes on the bottom.
So last night I had a dream that Jane Lynch, who plays the villainous cheerleading coach on Glee, was my high school poetry teacher. She was perfectly in-character, and quite possibly even wearing the track suit. She was mean to everybody, and wrote 3-page papers deriding each and every one of our poems. The only particular insult I can recall is when she called me a "wrist-cutting sissy," which in retrospect, is hilarious. It's good to know that I can write good dialogue even while unconscious.
I'm sick with a sore throat that inexplicably exploded in intestinal distress earlier today (I'll let the ramifications of that verb sit with you for a moment). It sucked, but because literally all my classes fall on Tuesday and Thursday, I couldn't skip. Staying home just one day means I would fall behind in every single one of my classes, which is something I'm just not willing to do for the second week of school. So I suffered. Whatever.
I'm sick, and I'm flat broke, but you'll just have to take my word for it when I say that my life is otherwise awesome. Here are my classes for the semester:
At 10 AM I have Modern Poetry Before and After, a Lit course. I forgot that modern poetry does not equal contemporary poetry, and felt quite silly on the first day of class. But, honestly, contemporary poetry would've annoyed me as much as modern and (I've come to realize) nowhere near as much as romantic poetry would. I've got to start somewhere. I don't like T.S. Elliot, but I'm going to try and give the guy a fair shake. The professor is a younger, eastern European lady with an unpronounceable last name who seems very competent and pleasant. The work load seems very reasonable for a Lit course.
Next is Shakespearean Comedy, which I'm taking mostly at the request and suggestion of DeWitt Henry, the professor I had for my American Short Story class last semester. When a professor specifically invites you to take a class of his, you take it. It means he wants you in there, which means he will probably grade you a little easier. Not much of a grade-grubber, personally, but when it's dangled in front of my face like that... I kind of wish it was a class on old Billy Shakes' tragedies instead, which I strongly prefer. But otherwise, it seems like a fine class. Also, Tommy is taking it with me, so that's entertaining.
And then we have my poetry workshop. I've already introduced you all to the professor in my last post. And, yeah, she basically seems like a tool. First thing on the first day, she sat down and said, "I'm Joan Houlihan. I trust you've heard of me?" We all kind of looked at each other and shrugged and shook our heads. "Google me," she said with a straight face, and some indignance. It was... well, embarassing. And hilarious.
So she's obnoxious, but I still think it will be an alright class. She's having us do a poem a week, which translates to us workshopping about seven poems per class. That leaves very little room for her bullshit, and she seems to know how to direct a workshop alright. So I lucked out, I guess.
Finally there's my standup comedy workshop. I took it because I'd heard from everybody it was an easy A, and it certainly seems that way. It's also fun, and I look forward to it as the end of my day. For our 'final' we're all going to some club and having an open mic night consisting solely of us students. It sounds like fun. Our professor, Mike Bent, is very encouraging. He showed us a tape of last semester's students, and they were all actually pretty good (minus maybe one or two exceptions). The title line is from one girl's act, which I found particularly memorable.
I'm sick with a sore throat that inexplicably exploded in intestinal distress earlier today (I'll let the ramifications of that verb sit with you for a moment). It sucked, but because literally all my classes fall on Tuesday and Thursday, I couldn't skip. Staying home just one day means I would fall behind in every single one of my classes, which is something I'm just not willing to do for the second week of school. So I suffered. Whatever.
I'm sick, and I'm flat broke, but you'll just have to take my word for it when I say that my life is otherwise awesome. Here are my classes for the semester:
At 10 AM I have Modern Poetry Before and After, a Lit course. I forgot that modern poetry does not equal contemporary poetry, and felt quite silly on the first day of class. But, honestly, contemporary poetry would've annoyed me as much as modern and (I've come to realize) nowhere near as much as romantic poetry would. I've got to start somewhere. I don't like T.S. Elliot, but I'm going to try and give the guy a fair shake. The professor is a younger, eastern European lady with an unpronounceable last name who seems very competent and pleasant. The work load seems very reasonable for a Lit course.
Next is Shakespearean Comedy, which I'm taking mostly at the request and suggestion of DeWitt Henry, the professor I had for my American Short Story class last semester. When a professor specifically invites you to take a class of his, you take it. It means he wants you in there, which means he will probably grade you a little easier. Not much of a grade-grubber, personally, but when it's dangled in front of my face like that... I kind of wish it was a class on old Billy Shakes' tragedies instead, which I strongly prefer. But otherwise, it seems like a fine class. Also, Tommy is taking it with me, so that's entertaining.
And then we have my poetry workshop. I've already introduced you all to the professor in my last post. And, yeah, she basically seems like a tool. First thing on the first day, she sat down and said, "I'm Joan Houlihan. I trust you've heard of me?" We all kind of looked at each other and shrugged and shook our heads. "Google me," she said with a straight face, and some indignance. It was... well, embarassing. And hilarious.
So she's obnoxious, but I still think it will be an alright class. She's having us do a poem a week, which translates to us workshopping about seven poems per class. That leaves very little room for her bullshit, and she seems to know how to direct a workshop alright. So I lucked out, I guess.
Finally there's my standup comedy workshop. I took it because I'd heard from everybody it was an easy A, and it certainly seems that way. It's also fun, and I look forward to it as the end of my day. For our 'final' we're all going to some club and having an open mic night consisting solely of us students. It sounds like fun. Our professor, Mike Bent, is very encouraging. He showed us a tape of last semester's students, and they were all actually pretty good (minus maybe one or two exceptions). The title line is from one girl's act, which I found particularly memorable.