(no subject)
So as it stands right now, I'm teaching composition to nine freshman boys.
That's kind of odd, but today they were exceptionally nice and respectful. I suspect that might have had something to do with the fact that I walked into class with one more shirt button undone than is commonly considered acceptable, but I'm not going to dwell on that. I think it's going to be a decent semester.
Of course, I say that having attended exactly zero of my own classes, but I'm visiting one of those tomorrow. It's off campus, bizarrely, in the building next door to my old apartment. I'm honestly a little worried about that one, since we have about twenty-five books to read--and it's not easy reading, by any means--but it shouldn't be intolerable.
Kidd's class meets Wednesday, in the seminar room the horrified library officials gave us when they learned we'd planned on meeting in the kitchen of Library East. I'm less worried about that one, since I know what I'm getting into, but at the same time I'm aware that it's my most important class. I'm a little disappointed that we won't be meeting in the kitchen (which would be the coolest place ever to conduct a class)--but then, so is Kidd. He was absolutely delighted about our original location when I talked to him last week.
Which brings me to something slightly disconcerting: he's been introducing himself to the other grads as Kenneth--which is totally fine, because that's his first name, but I've never, ever addressed him by first name. Even when we talked at length about slash, even when I wrote him cracked-out 4am emails when I was panicking about the application process, even when I totally cried when he called to tell me I'd been accepted into the program, even when he called to ask for my fall course choices and I said, "Holy shit!" Clearly we don't have the most traditional teacher-student relationship, but I've never been able to cross the name line (that's not an unusual thing, by any means- my high school friends and I went on a cruise and got drunk with our high school band director, and we still call him Mr. Naumann rather than Dave).
So that's a slightly odd situation, and I think a decision either way is pretty much unavoidable. I've gone the better part of a year without calling him anything, but I really can't see that continuing much further. As amusing as it might be to complete my graduate education without once addressing my favorite professor by name...I just can't let that happen.
Of course, now what's going to happen is that I'll randomly tell him one day, and then he'll laugh at me. Sort of like my senior year, when I told him I thought he hated me, and he looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Are you kidding? I think you're brilliant." Only this time it'll be something closer to, "Are you retarded?"
And I'll deserve it. Because I totally am.
That's kind of odd, but today they were exceptionally nice and respectful. I suspect that might have had something to do with the fact that I walked into class with one more shirt button undone than is commonly considered acceptable, but I'm not going to dwell on that. I think it's going to be a decent semester.
Of course, I say that having attended exactly zero of my own classes, but I'm visiting one of those tomorrow. It's off campus, bizarrely, in the building next door to my old apartment. I'm honestly a little worried about that one, since we have about twenty-five books to read--and it's not easy reading, by any means--but it shouldn't be intolerable.
Kidd's class meets Wednesday, in the seminar room the horrified library officials gave us when they learned we'd planned on meeting in the kitchen of Library East. I'm less worried about that one, since I know what I'm getting into, but at the same time I'm aware that it's my most important class. I'm a little disappointed that we won't be meeting in the kitchen (which would be the coolest place ever to conduct a class)--but then, so is Kidd. He was absolutely delighted about our original location when I talked to him last week.
Which brings me to something slightly disconcerting: he's been introducing himself to the other grads as Kenneth--which is totally fine, because that's his first name, but I've never, ever addressed him by first name. Even when we talked at length about slash, even when I wrote him cracked-out 4am emails when I was panicking about the application process, even when I totally cried when he called to tell me I'd been accepted into the program, even when he called to ask for my fall course choices and I said, "Holy shit!" Clearly we don't have the most traditional teacher-student relationship, but I've never been able to cross the name line (that's not an unusual thing, by any means- my high school friends and I went on a cruise and got drunk with our high school band director, and we still call him Mr. Naumann rather than Dave).
So that's a slightly odd situation, and I think a decision either way is pretty much unavoidable. I've gone the better part of a year without calling him anything, but I really can't see that continuing much further. As amusing as it might be to complete my graduate education without once addressing my favorite professor by name...I just can't let that happen.
Of course, now what's going to happen is that I'll randomly tell him one day, and then he'll laugh at me. Sort of like my senior year, when I told him I thought he hated me, and he looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Are you kidding? I think you're brilliant." Only this time it'll be something closer to, "Are you retarded?"
And I'll deserve it. Because I totally am.