Shari.com: Hopscotch

There's a song that's always in my head and often out of my mouth. It's the theme song to this Mitchell & Webb creation:

Ah, three-day weekend.

Classes are going well. It won't last in the SRO regular classes, but the Honors, despite seeing their own surprising jump in numbers all week, will be grand if they don't get much bigger.

Everyone else seems to be complaining about class sizes this week. Me, I've got a lot of "Um, welcome to last year?" trying to fly past my lips. Not to be catty at all, but last year it felt like my Own Private Idaho of Saddy-faceness. This year, who knows? I'll probably take up heroin and zone out to the memories of that one Awesome Blossom Day when I pushed 10 desks against the wall because they were getting in the way.

"Empty Desks." It's like fanfic.

Speaking of heroin:

That's two M&Ws for you, and nary a French postcard in sight. I think I might just read the rest of those cards, actually. I have plenty of uninspected ones from Spain and Austria to post if I ever desire inspiration.

France is on the mind lately as I've been reading Time Was Soft There. Great book. I do so love travel literature. (Despite my misgivings, please remind me to finish this one from my grandfather's bookshelf.)

What a pity that I may soon be plunking down nine Gs (not gangstas) on a payroll deduction plan to finally get that master's, and it's going to be a fluffy district-approved local online degree in something like Differentiated Instruction.

As opposed to Literature. There's no elbow patching in Curriculum and Instruction. And globe twirling is right out. But just the fact that suffering the creation of some original thesis about travel literature sounds really good right now shows that I've gone back to my own ivory tower and forgotten how much I hate-ity hated UNLV's grad prog in Eng Lit.

Hopping topics, in the file labeled "Terrifying Close Calls," please note that I almost wore khaki pants to work yesterday. Surprisingly, it was not a good day for khaki pants. And you know those days that are bad for khaki pants? It's the worst when they arrive "surprisingly." I'd taken so much ibuprofen by midnight that the doorways were shimmering. What a shame one can't donate a uterus. Mine's quite the lively bucker despite being determined to remain unemployed.

I accidentally turned down Jones coming home (Jones being a street, not a person, for any non-locals trying desperately to follow the thread that doesn't exist between paragraphs), which I took as a sign to go to Fresh & Easy. But when I got there, they were out of half-price cream puffs.

People. If you keep buying them, it makes it harder for me to have them. Please stop ballsing this up.

Back to heroin. No, meth. Is anyone else rubberneck-fascinated by photos of meth addicts? Like this famous series of a woman's deterioration over 10 years:

I've never been a shrieky stand-on-the-chair type about drugs, but even thinking about all the emotionally dead, ruthless meth addicts out there spooks the snot out of me. (When I'm not pissed off about how they caused the neutering of NyQuil. Then I'm ready to knock their remaining tooth out with a blister-pack of liquigels.)

I ended up not having a cold last week. Allergies. Yay. But all day in class today (really yesterday), kids were sniffling and blowing their noses. Great.

I think I'll provide tissue all year, just to keep that much more boogervapor out of the room. Just like I'm providing pens and paper. And, at some point, instruction. But that's crazy last minute Monday evening talk.

Oh, I like this one, too:

It's just becoming one big M&W-wank here, isn't it? (Wang? Numberwang? Shhh, we'll save that for later.) I blame this Youtubery on the fact that I can't sleep and don't have any cream puffs. And I'm coming down off the ibuprofen-wooze.

This one I love:

Enough. But I'm not saying that in my Barack Obama voice, because I'm one of the two people who didn't watch the DNC hoohah. Mike's the other. I'm sorry, please don't hate me, it's not personal, but I really dislike Obama's public persona, and his ideas leave me wondering why people I respect are so into him. The piper's tune! It does nothing!

Don't worry - I loathe McCain just as much, and sometimes for the same reasons. So, followers of both major parties can be cheesed off at me. It's all good.

I've done plenty of "lesser evil" voting in my time, but this is the first election where both candidates actually offend me. I can't pick a lesser evil this time, because the thought of saying I supported either one of them flat out is upsetting. I know! I feel like the only person who isn't either bursting with renewed American pride over BO's speech or else aggressively sharing links to prove that the "B. O." is a meaningful clue.

But again, please don't hate me. All of my friends like one or the other, some even acting as delegates, and we all get along. They think I'm missing some point, and all I can say is, well, I hope so.

And now I'm tired and getting grouchy that one of them is going to be president, and maybe there's no civilization out there that shares my views on economic and social policy. Maybe I am globally unwelcome.

(By the way: Barry? John? I couldn't give a flying fuck about your religious views. Just FYI! Smooches! Although now I'm wondering what a "flying fuck" is, and why it's so worthless. It sounds kind of fun, actually. Unless it's flying away. Or maybe flying everywhere, like a garden hose left unattended.)

(Hey, here's the origin.)

(Good grief, it's actually true.)

(But I still don't understand why people would give it away.)

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