Category: Uncategorized

Craig Litten, AP
From today’s Gazette – the photo was taken in South Daytona, Florida. Prices in Montreal hit 99.9 cents per litre yesterday.
I’ve been trying to figure out the equation needed to give an accurate equivalent in US money and gallons, but hey, I’m an English prof. Gimme a break. Suffice it to say, gas ain’t cheap.

So I was listening to the radio yesterday. I listen to a “classic rock” station, because I choose to live in the past and growl about the new so-called “music,” if it’s all the same to you.
Anyway, there I am, minding my own business, and America’s Horse With No Name comes on.
And it struck me – when a songwriter sits down to knock off a ditty, s/he must be hoping for a hit. But is s/he also hoping that the latest creation will not become yet another Horse With No Name? Another Stairway?
Does there come a point when a songwriter is just as sick of a given song as the rest of us?
Don’t get me wrong – I sang along. I, too, have been through a desert on a horse with no name. I’ve heard a bustle in the hedgerow. I’ve had one foot on the platform, the other foot on the train. In spoken communication, we’re inundated with cliches – are such songs just musical cliches?
The answer must be blowin’ in the wind.

A friend from the Adult Ed centre I worked for last spring sent me an e-mail. It seems that the centre has moved to spiffy new digs, and the curriculum has been expanded in celebration. They need teachers!!
New courses include web page design, art, mass media, photo art, and [possibly] environmental studies.
Ideally, they’re looking for people with some teaching experience, but I don’t think it’s an absolute.
I loved teaching there! It’s officially an adult ed school, but my students were in their late teens, giving school a second chance – so they were young enough to be a blast to teach, but jaded enough to be motivated.
This could be neat for some one looking to teach a few hours (I taught two three-hour classes) a couple of nights a week. If anyone’s interested, let me know – a CV would be useful.

Ok, temporary but nasty technical difficulties, all stemming from a hard drive gone soft. Good thing I have my own personal IT guy.
Needless to say (why, oh why does this phrase exist??), from now I’m backing things up! Dr. T was able to perform small miracles blog-wise; at this time, there are still a few minor glitches to work out, but we’re good to go.
Archives? Check.
Categories? Check.
Comments? Check.
Image and Doc files? Check.
Witty yet succinct remark to sum up the entire experience?
Not at this time. Please do not adjust your monitor.

Ok, proud of myself for not smoking for 66 days!!
On the other hand, not so pleased with the extra 10 pounds. This is not what I meant when I said I loved the hippy life.
So, new resolution – I’m going to get back into the pilates, and the walking – I haven’t walked Maggie the Poodle since before Christmas – and stop rewarding the non-smoking with the “occasional” maple-walnut muffin.
I miss smoking. I’m going to miss the muffins, too. Being thin and healthy better be worth it, is all I can say.

Last semester, I found myself running around like the cliched chicken, but without the sweet release of death to look forward to. So, I vowed, this semester I would be prepared.
Ha.
I had it all planned – oral presentations throughout the term, rather than all at once at the end; staggered due dates to ensure smaller heaps of essays to correct; class reading schedules so we’re all on the same page (pun intended), etc. I was a veritable goddess of anticipatory scheduling.
You can tell I’m tired. I’m using words like ‘anticipatory’ with no veiled undertones. Sigh.
Of course, orals get postponed because students get the flu, or the plague, or whatever, or simply decide that their mid-term chem test is waaaaay more important than Mordecai Richler’s contribution to the literary face of Montreal; essays are late or rescheduled because everyone’s (and I mean everyone’s) computer eats documents randomly and no one’s printer works; and books arrive three friggin’ weeks late at the bookstore.
Needless to say (so I’ll say it), I am once again facing the end of the semester with trepidation. Or I would be if I could remember what ‘trepidation’ meant, along with the other few thousand words that have abandoned me of late. This morning I told a class that Sebastian “beat the shit out of” Sir Toby in Twelfth Night. While true, still not the eloquent professorial note one wants to strike with students.
And now, let’s face it, I’m just babbling.
The good news is that all my colleagues seem to wandering the halls with the same frightened deer look, so I am not alone in my trepidation, whatever that means.
Four weeks from now, it will all be behind me (save the heaps of essays), and I’ll be able to think about my summer course – which, since it’s only three weeks long, will be over before the panic can begin.

A newsletter description that could have benefited from a copy editor:
Get the straight answers on how to protect yourself, your children and your assets from expert Jim Gross.
Via Bill, who is linkless and commentless, but still loveable.

My subconscious is really getting around. Last night’s dream featured Brad Pitt.
Unlike Ben, Brad did not insist on discussing literature. He did, however, think I was truly gifted comedically – at one point, he lifted his shirt, pointed to his six-pack abs, and said “I have never laughed so much. What a workout!”
Interestingly, his wife was in the next room, having a shower. So what did we do? We cuddled on the couch. Fully clothed, down to the thick wool socks, cuddling. And Ms Aniston did not, at any point, emerge toweled and dripping from the other room.
Once again, my mind created an ideal scenario but chickened out on the follow-through. This is despite assurances from Dr. T that I can have dream sex with celebrities, as long as I’m willing to share the details.
Well, these are the details: he’s got great abs, Jennifer was in the shower actually getting clean, and I had on nice warm socks.

First, he surprises her with a trip to Rome.
Now this.
Romance will never die as long as there are a few like Paul left. Congrats!

I had a veeeeeery interesting dream about Ben Afleck last night.
First of all, it turns out that in my subconscious, Ben is well-read and very interested in the process of teaching English literature. Also, he thinks I have great, um, assets.
Anyway, we’re on our way upstairs to, well, y’know, when I WOKE UP.
So there you have it. Apparently extramarital adventures, even with celebrities, are off-limits. I can’t even have dream sex. Stupid morals. 😛