You've Sure Had A Time Of It

That's an aardvark. Consider that our dinner and a movie.

1. From the discussion post of a fellow student in my online teacher education class discussion of the pros/cons of same sex education: However, I am not sure this would be the best environment for the girls. This safe zone would be a phasad.

2. From Author Whose Full Name is Alliterative: When I was working on [book] I devised a new method--new to me, anyway. When I finished a paragraph, even a three-line paragraph, I automatically went to a fresh page to start the new paragraph. No crowded pages. This enabled me to see a given set of sentences more clearly. It made rewriting easier and more effective. The white space on the page helped me concentrate more deeply on what I'd written.

3. From the slightly addled confines of neural circuitry to which I have access 16-18 hours a day: Interpretive dance can mean two things. I prefer it to mean the dance of interpretation, the play-of-surfaces interaction we orchestrate in trying to hook up to the world. Someday I will date a dancer, and her meaning may eventually trump mine.

Instantaneous feedback is not a good unto itself. Every time another teacher talks into my face, the smell of coffee swill washes over me and I want to throw up. But I say nothing.

I am becoming as sentimental as the Newhart Show, which I am only guessing was very sentimental because I remember very little of it. It is something chronic and in need of immediate attention. Where there is little but gush, I shall avoid that place.



4. Fun.

5. Books (new consumed) The Work Of Wolves. A South Dakota book. The local mall even gets a mention. Cowboys talk in clipped dialogue and lurch at the world all dogged like in the manner of a Henry Stamper, say. I like characters that cut to the chase. This is also kind of a feel good novel, despite its tacit themes of cruelty and the absolute inability to truly someone unless you give up who you are in the process. Love-as-transformative-life-fucker-upper is not a new theme, but still . . . I read this book in two days. The first day I sat in my parents' house, nursing a "I'm home again" hangover. The second day was actually more of a night: I had made the long westward passage from eastern South Dakota to eastern Montana. then I stayed up five hours devouring these pages. I passed through, then consumed the literature of, my home state. I'm like the Jack Kerouac of the Northern Plains, except I dont write nor do i do lots of dexedrine (oh those were the days).

6. Speaking of the SoDa - they don't like babykillers. I am at a loss for words. Being at a loss for words is not the same thing as being surprised, note.

7. Books (previously consumed, currently revisited) J Lethem's the Fortress of Solitude. I'm not going to pick up on the race stuff or the comic book hero stuff; I just want to say that the man can craft a sentence, especially when he seemingly works under a self-imposed "only one and two syllable words." I wonder if J Lethem can dance at all.

8. It's Friday. I'm off.