Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I just got back from my first night of grad class, and I kind of need to talk about it. Not the actual content stuff. That was nice, once I got over being terrified for the first half hour while we did introductions and I thought maybe I'd forgotten how to think like a smart person. It's fine though. By the time the three hours ended, my anxieties were assuaged.

So, back to my trauma. First of all, I was late. Not for lack of planning, but kind of for lack of planning. I wanted to get there early to find the room and get a good seat and do other silly, former-over-achiever kinds of things, so I left my house forty minutes before class started. The drive to Allendale is about twenty miles, so I was sure I would get there in plenty of time. Except that my class started at 6, which means I left home at 5:20, and it kind of slipped my mind that this would put me smack dab in the middle of rush hour traffic, trying to traverse the mighty beast that is Downtown Grand Rapids (AND Walker AND Standale, which were actually worse that GR). So I didn't make it there in twenty minutes; it took about fifty. I walked in to class ten minutes late and sweaty and puffing from power walking from the parking lot (commuting is lame, btw), all the way to the classroom. But. But but but. This is where the story actually starts to get so bad that it's funny.

The thing is, this is a seminar class - very small, you know? Caps at 15, but there are apparently only 13 of us actually taking it this semester. And guess who the shit ass damn hell is sitting right up there in the front row of the class? (this is only going to be interesting to the U of M people, and maybe even not all of them...). It's Lauren Hoffman. In my class. My tiny tiny class of people who are going to get really close and friendly and discussiony for the next sixteen weeks or so. I don't think I need to (or want to, at least) say any more. In different circumstances I would punch her out pretty quick, but we're going to be keeping it business while we're in class. And today she seemed nice enough. Besides, that's all ancient history anyway. Like, we're talking Mesozoic. It's just like fate needed a good laugh or something. Glad I could help out with that one. Guh.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Couple things. First of all, the serial blinker has struck again. I just got back from GVSU orientation where, after suppressing countless yawns while they talked about libraries and buses and tech support, I waited in line to have my picture taken for my student ID card. After the presentations, half the crowd stampeded over to building C and got in line. I was something like thirty-second out of about one hundred. Or something. The specifics aren't important, what matters is that there were a whole lot of people behind me, bored and tired and growing more impatient all the time, and I couldn't take a decent picture. The flash seemed to be perfectly in sync with my blink reflex, which, sadly, I can only consistently suppress by holding my eyes WIDE open like I'm really surprised. I was almost doing that by attempt number five, and the girl was telling me about how flexible their hours were, suggesting that I come back later when someone has adequate time to devote to capturing my open-eyed self. Thankfully, attempt five worked, and I was out of there.

While I stood in line, I had time to admire my surroundings. Maybe U of M has spoiled me. A few people have said things to me asserting that this is decidedly so (something about class called Arrogance 101 required freshmen year...absolute tosh, if you ask me). Anyway, I was always under the impressions that universities were supposed to be places of proud, solemn tradition, places of gravitas, not places with striped awnings, fake palm trees, and indoor faux cabanas. Perhaps I just need to diversify my definitions and expectations a bit. We shall see.

For the past two days we've had tech training workshops at school. This year, my students will create digital narratives and podcasts, among other things. To be able to teach a room full of sixteen-year-olds to do this, us teachers had to learn first, so yesterday I facilitated a discussion that became a podcast, and today I made this little gem (see if you can recognize the parts I lifted from a former blog entry). It's rough and simple, but it was my first try, so judge it gently if you feel the need to judge at all.

And there were even more stories to tell, but a certain Mr. Blair recently got to them first, thus draining all of my narrative momentum. They will wait for later.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Because What You Really Needed Was A Medical Update

Top 10 Things That Seem To Strain The Stitches In A Rather Alarming, Something-In-There-Is-Going-To-Burst Kind Of Way:

10. Chewing
9. Swallowing
8. Smiling
7. Laughing
6. Talking to others on the phone
5. Talking to others in person
4. Flipping my head over really fast to wrap my wet hair in a towel
3. Opening jars with sticky lids
2. Moving heavy furniture around my classroom
1. Sneezing

Clearly in the past three days I haven't had any fun at all.

But that's not really true. I mean, it's "fun" knowing that I'll never have to have my wisdom teeth out again; it was "fun" waking up in the middle of surgery to feel the doctor yanking away at that bottom left one (not that there was pain exactly, but the memory of that weird pressure is enough to start the chills a-rollin'); it's "fun" being able to feel again that rather large patch of skin up by my left temple that was mysteriously numb for the first 18 hours after I woke up; it's "fun" carrying around the aroma of frozen peas in my skin after holding the bag up to my face for hours and hours; and it will really be fun being able to brush my teeth like a normal person (all the way to the back and with vigor!).

The smiling is really the only bad part. I don't mind the ice cream and guilt-free hours on the couch catching up on my New Yorkers and Bravo programming. But the way I keep making myself bleed when I smile is pretty annoying. I guess didn't realize I did that so often and so unconsciously until my face forced me to stop entirely. I went out yesterday and tried going to the bank and the grocery store without smiling when I thanked the clerk, and then of course the thought of how silly I must look struck me as hilarious so I grinned all the way back to the car anyway. My gums must hate me.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

There's a good chance I'll be getting scurvy any day now. When I travel, it's hard to work in those fruits and veggies as often as I should. If only hot dogs had vitamin C. And first thing tomorrow morning, while my legs are still throbbing from traipsing around Grant Park for the last three days at Lollapalooza where I scratched my glasses in that irreparable, you-need-new-lenses-because-of-course-you-have-time-for-this-right-now kind of way(and before that I was up north for the Great Family Reunion and at Portage Point with my good friends the Mossings, hence the updatelessness around here and previous hot dog reference), I'll be going under the knife to have all four of my impacted wisdom teeth cut out of my helpless, innocent gums. Awesome. After that I'll have to hurry up and get my grad school stuff all straightened out since I managed to sneak into fall classes at GVSU, and Emily's bridal shower is this weekend, which in itself is exciting, but is made even more fantastic by the prospect of seeing some of my favorite people and trying on bride's maids dresses with them. My life is pretty much a run-on sentence lately, so I'm not going to apologize for all of those guys up there. And know who else uses run-ons? My hero Dave Eggers. Not that that makes it okay. I'm just saying.