I know there's a handful of you out there who have been patiently checking this blog day after day despite my refusal to write, and I appreciate your failure to learn any better. Without a doubt, this post will enable your addiction to a blog that has become stale at best. Then again, warm spring weather has been known to bring about little bloggy renaissances.
There's a two-ton man with dreadlocks who works in the mail room of the Press, but he just walked by my cubicle with the most adorable 4 year-old in tow, who I assume is his daughter. In fact, the guy's a gentle giant (even though he could pulverize an apple between his thumb and forefinger), but he's got the face of a pit bull, and so does his daughter, which is funny.
I was talking to my old Humanities professor, who is now my Fundamentals junior paper advisor, about The Winter's Tale and the statue of Hermione coming to life, when he asked me to name the important incident of "touching" and "knowing" in Western literature. I had no idea what he was searching for, but I didn't want to disappoint him, so I guessed, "Uh, Hellen Keller?" My professor coughed and mumbled in his Irish brogue, "Well, er, yes," but the answer turned out to be Doubting Thomas, so I wasn't about to argue a place for Miracle Worker in the Western Canon.
Coincidentally, I was reading Peter Brook over spring break and suddenly he started talking about the play (Winter's Tale, I mean), and he said this about the statue scene: "...I discovered that the way to understand this scene is not to discuss it but to play it. In performance this action is strangely satisfying--and so it makes us wonder deeply." And that made me warm in the happy theater places of my body, but also sort of sad since I knew I was going to be spending the next three months doing everything but playing it.
I got some great comments on my St. Augustine paper on stories from last quarter, and the professor even invited me to come drop by his office sometime. I think he just wants to ask about the clown class (Rita claims that I made him spill coffee on himself when I mentioned I was going to study clowning this spring).
Barring any new wars this week, I'll be watching Dubya throw out the first pitch at the Cubs-Reds opening game next Monday. For $5, I'll heckle the president with a jeer of your choice.
There's a two-ton man with dreadlocks who works in the mail room of the Press, but he just walked by my cubicle with the most adorable 4 year-old in tow, who I assume is his daughter. In fact, the guy's a gentle giant (even though he could pulverize an apple between his thumb and forefinger), but he's got the face of a pit bull, and so does his daughter, which is funny.
I was talking to my old Humanities professor, who is now my Fundamentals junior paper advisor, about The Winter's Tale and the statue of Hermione coming to life, when he asked me to name the important incident of "touching" and "knowing" in Western literature. I had no idea what he was searching for, but I didn't want to disappoint him, so I guessed, "Uh, Hellen Keller?" My professor coughed and mumbled in his Irish brogue, "Well, er, yes," but the answer turned out to be Doubting Thomas, so I wasn't about to argue a place for Miracle Worker in the Western Canon.
Coincidentally, I was reading Peter Brook over spring break and suddenly he started talking about the play (Winter's Tale, I mean), and he said this about the statue scene: "...I discovered that the way to understand this scene is not to discuss it but to play it. In performance this action is strangely satisfying--and so it makes us wonder deeply." And that made me warm in the happy theater places of my body, but also sort of sad since I knew I was going to be spending the next three months doing everything but playing it.
I got some great comments on my St. Augustine paper on stories from last quarter, and the professor even invited me to come drop by his office sometime. I think he just wants to ask about the clown class (Rita claims that I made him spill coffee on himself when I mentioned I was going to study clowning this spring).
Barring any new wars this week, I'll be watching Dubya throw out the first pitch at the Cubs-Reds opening game next Monday. For $5, I'll heckle the president with a jeer of your choice.
4 Comments:
who is your junior paper advisor?
Bradin Cormack, he's from the English Dept.
He has seven children, apparently.
I got nice comments too, but then a lackluster grade and no invite to ever speak to him again. Not that I ever spoke to him in the first place. So I guess the status quo stands.
Well, maybe if you were in the Fundies club, you'd get these secret Struassian meeting invitations too.
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