July 22, 2010
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So, I just totally pulled a teacher move on my own essay. Printed off what I have to say about Chuck so far, and then circled and made arrows and notes. It ends up looking like a basketball coach's sketch of what the next play should contain. You go here and do this, you need more spit to fly out of your mouth before you get the ball from Nimrod, etc. Oddly, I've started writing like Chuck, I think, in order to write about him. I don't sound very academic, and that was one of the big warnings we got from the editor of this book. Don't sound too academic. Check mark that, yo.
But I'm hoping that that's cool; that he's infiltrated my writing style. He sucked me in, drenched me in Chuck goo, and then sent me on my merry way to spread the Good Word of Chuck. Basically. Yeah.
I just want it to be good. And not even, "Oh, I can tell she's a teacher," good, but like, "Oh, man, she's funny and I think she's right," good. That probably doesn't make sense. And I don't think it has to; I'm writing about Chuck for crying outloud.
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Sidenote: I ran into some former students last night "downtown." They didn't totally hate my classes, and I realize they could've been lying to my face, and yet they gave me advice on how to make it better. The two pieces of advice? Swear more and come to class hungover. *shakes head* The one was super disappointed that I hadn't come to class hungover at all; I told him I did that once or twice in grad school and it wasn't fun, so I told myself no more of that with a "real job." He didn't think that was good logic. They never do.
///////FJ: (b) watermelon. (l) BK. (s) Snickers. (d) chinese take-out.
