Statues with Penises, Sun Burnt Toes, and Crime Scene Investigations
Quite a lot to talk about, as the title may hint. Today is Friday, blissful, wonderful, relaxing, and whatnot Friday. Fridays are followed by weekends for most people. It is nice; I know, I used to be one of those people. Now, alas, I have no weekend, but spend my Saturdays and Sundays holed up in my apartment reading. Or, as with this "weekend," investigating a crime scene. I will now begin to talk about -gasp- a class other than theory. They do exist.
My latest assignment in the non-fiction workshop is to pick a scene where a newsworthy event has occurred, and go there. Ask around, find stuff out, and get a good feel for the area. Then, write about it. What is the area like, what are the people like, etc? How is all this different now that whatever took place has taken place? Is it different? Kind of a neat assignment, except that most of what is newsworthy is also dangerous. So I have connections. A girl I eat lunch with has a husband. This husband is the manager of the chain of stores called, "Nothin' Butt Smokes." This store on 37th and Slide was robbed a week ago. The girl is going to ask her husband to get in contact with the person at the register, to set up an interview with me. Yeah. I'll spend my Saturday scoping out the area and writing up a vivid "What's it like now?" article. Then, whenever, but hopefully before Wednesday, I'll talk to this cashier, and get a few quotes and "What happened?" stuff to add to it. It'll be great. I'll be rich, and famous, and published, and then I'll wake up. Because really. It's an assignment for class that will never leave the room. But I can pretend.
So that's my workshoppping class. Theory involved penises today, and not the Freudian penis envy kind. I'm talking about real, sculpted from brass and erected in front of the Student Union building penises. And breasts. The girls have bare breasts, and the guys have little penises. None of this is very big, mind, as the figures are all smaller than the average human hand. But they are anatomically correct. And our mascot, depicted as a female, is stabbing this guy in the butt with her lance, as he tries to crawl away from her. Since all the people are naked, it's kind a terrible thing to have your mascot abusing someone like that. But in the name of art, and because it is really cool for the mascot to finally be a woman, and because of, I don't know, oppression through the ages or something, it's kind of neat. And after all, her lance is actually a whole inch away from him, so I think his butt's safe. The rest of the statue, the part most observers would overlook in favor of gawking at the penises, is a tornado of books, ascending from the White House, and a king and queen standing watch over it. All these little people are climbing the tornado, and sitting on books, or taking naps. And I really like this statue. It speaks to me. I can see myself pointing it out in any campus tour I lead.
And that leaves sun burnt toes. Those would be mine. Our theory class took a field trip to observe the statue I've been talking about, and we stood outside long enough for my toes to be sunburned. I had already had distinct tan lines where my sandal straps come across the tops of my feet, but now I have reddened toes to go along with it. But my floppy risky lime hat protected my ears, face and shoulders. I said it was a big hat, right? I meant it. My shoulders are protected.
Ah well. It is my brother's birthday today. Let's all wish him well. I certainly do. He's at camp right now, as a councilor. I think he's an excellent councilor, because he hasn't committed homicide yet. I would have murdered several children by this time if we had changed places. I don't deal too well with them. They irritate me. On purpose. I'm sure of it. But my brother is very tall, and very muscular, and somehow, very patient with these kids. It amazes me.
About that office. I love it. I have a huge desk, a really nice chair, two ceiling height bookshelves, and three great people to share it with. Well, two great people. Our fourth pod mate hasn't arrived, so none of us know him. But the three of us who *are* here like each other, know each other, and have class with each other. It'll be a good two years. We're up on the fourth floor, around the corner from the elevator, and down a short but easy to miss side corridor. We're secluded. It's great. I can see some student of mine some day trying to find me, and having a hard time. I'll have to give them directions on my syllabus.
Oh well. I'm getting hungry, so I'll post and be gone. End.
My latest assignment in the non-fiction workshop is to pick a scene where a newsworthy event has occurred, and go there. Ask around, find stuff out, and get a good feel for the area. Then, write about it. What is the area like, what are the people like, etc? How is all this different now that whatever took place has taken place? Is it different? Kind of a neat assignment, except that most of what is newsworthy is also dangerous. So I have connections. A girl I eat lunch with has a husband. This husband is the manager of the chain of stores called, "Nothin' Butt Smokes." This store on 37th and Slide was robbed a week ago. The girl is going to ask her husband to get in contact with the person at the register, to set up an interview with me. Yeah. I'll spend my Saturday scoping out the area and writing up a vivid "What's it like now?" article. Then, whenever, but hopefully before Wednesday, I'll talk to this cashier, and get a few quotes and "What happened?" stuff to add to it. It'll be great. I'll be rich, and famous, and published, and then I'll wake up. Because really. It's an assignment for class that will never leave the room. But I can pretend.
So that's my workshoppping class. Theory involved penises today, and not the Freudian penis envy kind. I'm talking about real, sculpted from brass and erected in front of the Student Union building penises. And breasts. The girls have bare breasts, and the guys have little penises. None of this is very big, mind, as the figures are all smaller than the average human hand. But they are anatomically correct. And our mascot, depicted as a female, is stabbing this guy in the butt with her lance, as he tries to crawl away from her. Since all the people are naked, it's kind a terrible thing to have your mascot abusing someone like that. But in the name of art, and because it is really cool for the mascot to finally be a woman, and because of, I don't know, oppression through the ages or something, it's kind of neat. And after all, her lance is actually a whole inch away from him, so I think his butt's safe. The rest of the statue, the part most observers would overlook in favor of gawking at the penises, is a tornado of books, ascending from the White House, and a king and queen standing watch over it. All these little people are climbing the tornado, and sitting on books, or taking naps. And I really like this statue. It speaks to me. I can see myself pointing it out in any campus tour I lead.
And that leaves sun burnt toes. Those would be mine. Our theory class took a field trip to observe the statue I've been talking about, and we stood outside long enough for my toes to be sunburned. I had already had distinct tan lines where my sandal straps come across the tops of my feet, but now I have reddened toes to go along with it. But my floppy risky lime hat protected my ears, face and shoulders. I said it was a big hat, right? I meant it. My shoulders are protected.
Ah well. It is my brother's birthday today. Let's all wish him well. I certainly do. He's at camp right now, as a councilor. I think he's an excellent councilor, because he hasn't committed homicide yet. I would have murdered several children by this time if we had changed places. I don't deal too well with them. They irritate me. On purpose. I'm sure of it. But my brother is very tall, and very muscular, and somehow, very patient with these kids. It amazes me.
About that office. I love it. I have a huge desk, a really nice chair, two ceiling height bookshelves, and three great people to share it with. Well, two great people. Our fourth pod mate hasn't arrived, so none of us know him. But the three of us who *are* here like each other, know each other, and have class with each other. It'll be a good two years. We're up on the fourth floor, around the corner from the elevator, and down a short but easy to miss side corridor. We're secluded. It's great. I can see some student of mine some day trying to find me, and having a hard time. I'll have to give them directions on my syllabus.
Oh well. I'm getting hungry, so I'll post and be gone. End.
posted by Rehkmira @ 17:30
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