Andrew Bird - "A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left"
I had two dreams the other night. The first was about Mr. Allen, my 10th grade English teacher. I had somehow run into him on a staircase on the UofC campus, and we began talking about literature and teaching as we both climbed the staircase. It was Mr. Allen who did all the talking. He told me that Shakespeare's Pericles was the primary influence of the 19th century gothicists like Henry James (which I realized, upon waking, I could probably write a decent paper on). Then he started reminiscing about teaching, and he told me this: "If you remember one thing of me, remember that in my teaching style I neither pushed you students too hard nor let you slack off: I just let the snow fall." This makes as much sense as any of Mr. Allen's aphorisms ever did, but further clarification was never requested since Mr. Allen ended every comment by slapping the table and shouting, "Eh? EH?"
The second dream was about a killer turkey who was raiding my chicken farm.
Starting this new summer job has been easier than any first week I've ever worked at a new place. This is because in all my old jobs it has always been awkward when none of the veteran employees are informed that there is a new guy, and that I am him. I still remember my first day at the Press when I asked a PM for a manuscript and they responded, "Who the hell are you?" That sort of greeting tends to exacerbate the feeling of being an outsider that I am so neurotic about. However, at this job, everyone seems to know who I am before I know them. "You must be The Intern!" "Ah, so you're The Intern From Chicago!" "Helloooo Intern!"
I'm also already getting to improvise again: first, in the weekly class and second, in a weekend workshop that covered movement, mime, music, and technical improvisation. I also happen to be the youngest person in all of these classes, meaning that I just can't intelligently fake a casual conversation about health insurance plans or Northern Exposure.
Otherwise, most of my Alpharetta time is directed towards coopting Kristen into watching Star Wars or my most recent acquisition, Season One of The Adventures of Pete & Pete. Which is, by the way, even better than you remembered it.
I had two dreams the other night. The first was about Mr. Allen, my 10th grade English teacher. I had somehow run into him on a staircase on the UofC campus, and we began talking about literature and teaching as we both climbed the staircase. It was Mr. Allen who did all the talking. He told me that Shakespeare's Pericles was the primary influence of the 19th century gothicists like Henry James (which I realized, upon waking, I could probably write a decent paper on). Then he started reminiscing about teaching, and he told me this: "If you remember one thing of me, remember that in my teaching style I neither pushed you students too hard nor let you slack off: I just let the snow fall." This makes as much sense as any of Mr. Allen's aphorisms ever did, but further clarification was never requested since Mr. Allen ended every comment by slapping the table and shouting, "Eh? EH?"
The second dream was about a killer turkey who was raiding my chicken farm.
Starting this new summer job has been easier than any first week I've ever worked at a new place. This is because in all my old jobs it has always been awkward when none of the veteran employees are informed that there is a new guy, and that I am him. I still remember my first day at the Press when I asked a PM for a manuscript and they responded, "Who the hell are you?" That sort of greeting tends to exacerbate the feeling of being an outsider that I am so neurotic about. However, at this job, everyone seems to know who I am before I know them. "You must be The Intern!" "Ah, so you're The Intern From Chicago!" "Helloooo Intern!"
I'm also already getting to improvise again: first, in the weekly class and second, in a weekend workshop that covered movement, mime, music, and technical improvisation. I also happen to be the youngest person in all of these classes, meaning that I just can't intelligently fake a casual conversation about health insurance plans or Northern Exposure.
Otherwise, most of my Alpharetta time is directed towards coopting Kristen into watching Star Wars or my most recent acquisition, Season One of The Adventures of Pete & Pete. Which is, by the way, even better than you remembered it.
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