Janian Trauma

Oh, I will never be the same! I had the weirdest nightmare last night, and it will forever change the way I read one of my all-time favorite books.

I dreamed that I was trapped in the world of Sense & Sensibility, and that I was playing the role of Margaret, the youngest of the Dashwood daughters. In my dream, Mr. Willoughby actually did propose marriage to Marrianne (instead of running off to make a more advantageous marriage). On the day of the wedding, Willoughby rode up to the house and was as cheerful and charming as ever. I ran up to meet him, laughing, but he suddenly turned savage and grabbed at me. Right then I realized (isn't it amazing how you can automatically acquire new knowledge in dreams?) that Willoughby was actually a serial killer, and that he left the women of his past mutilated, rather than merely pregnant and destitute.

I grabbed Marianne, and we ran through the cottage and out the door. Marianne cried and fell all over the place and seemed remarkably uncoordinated, but I continued to drag her along until we reached the main road. And there, we met Col. Brandon on a horse, leading a SWAT unit towards the house. Yes, you heard me. A SWAT team descending on Barton Park cottage.

My dream ended there; but I am sure that, had my dream lasted longer, I would have seen Brandon crash through the door and dispense some fierce Tarantino-esque vengeance on Willoughby for all his wickedness.

Now, I will never be able to read S&S without envisioning men in uniform descending on the Dashwood residence, wielding automatic firearms and shouting in brutish tones. Ms. Austen, have mercy on me! Purge these thoughts so that your work will once again be pure and delightful!

What It's All About

A note from a student sent to me today:

"Thank you for all you do! I am very excited to learn how to become a better writer!!"

Can anything be more pleasing to a teacher's ear?

Night on the Pier

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable; in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god: the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals - and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? -Hamlet, Act 2, scene 2

First Day and Football

Well, the first day of class has come and gone, and to be honest, it went better than I had originally anticipated.

On Wednesday night, I fantasized about all of the inspirational and clever things I was going to say to my class to magiacally make them love me and adore the English language. The scene in my head had a distinct Dead Poets' Society-esque flavor. I wrote down all of the fabulous points I would make to prove to these freshmen how important the mastery of the English language was to them, academically and professionally. I went to bed happy, certain that I would be dynamic and interesting in class.

Of course, in the cold light of morning, the first thought I had was "What the heck was I thinking?!" It was all sentimental mush that could do nothing but confuse the students and make me look like an idiot. I was seriously considering tossing out all my material and just doing a straightforward introduction to the class, but I decided to keep the more rational sounding clips from the previous night's idealistic ravings and use them however I could.

The classes themselves were chaotic and loud; a surprising amount of students realized halfway through the class that they were in the wrong room, despite the fact that I repeated the name of the class several times and the classroom numbers are clearly marked. (Not a good sign for the general mental prowess of the student body, but I hope to be proved wrong.) So many little incidents occurred throughout the day that it would take another day just to write them all down. In short, thank heavens for the actual experience of being in the classroom, because not only did it calm my nerves and give me confidence, but it also revealed the multiple flaws in my different class policies that I will now have to change.



On Saturday, we had our first football game here on campus. It was a perfect day, and I had so much fun sitting in the bleachers and cheering. After a while, the crowd's enthusiasm died down, since the Tigers didn't score until the fourth quarter, but the guys came back to at least lose with some dignity (final score: 31 to 13). The most memorable part of the day was the halftime show with the dance team and marching band. Since it was their first performance, they really tried to be impressive. However, they overreached a bit in their attempt at coolness, and so the crowd was presented with a 15-minute sequence of James Bond movie themes, complete with interpretive dance. The music was decent, but the dancing had me nearly rolling down the bleachers with laughter. The boy playing a willowy James Bond pranced about and pretended to fend off ninja attackers with a sparkly baton; it was about as laughable as a ballet rendition of Cliffhanger.



Stay tuned for a report of the next game, where, I have heard, James Bond will dance a provocative marching band tango with Dr. No.