Saturday, December 14, 2002
From Anger to Transcendence through Play Station and SMuTCo. Memories:
So, I had a bad day and afternoon— a rough 48 hours or so, actually, packed with stress and frustration and spiked with few moments of redemption. Just when I think I'm overloaded and justifiably considering loosing my shit, I am saved.
Pissed? Sure I was. First of all, I'm doing dorm duty AND coaching varsity basketball, two duties with plenty of perks and fulfilling aspects, so imagine my ire when, because of inadequate common sense and foresight on the part of certain athletic directors (who are a genetic cross between Mark Taylor and Mrs. Pond (yes it's a mile long)), both responsibilities overlapped: I was supposed to accompany and coach my team to our first victory tomorrow morning in the Portledge Tournament, but I'm also on dorm duty this weekend, and with conflicts, it was decided that I had to not go to the game. We lost the first tourney game tonight, and I had to rush back Hayes and Jason Chen in my car (a van was taken by Coach Barros) to get them back in time for the Performing Arts Concert (which was dyna-fucking-mite, apparently we have a young world-class choreographer/dance instructor)— Hayes was on sound, and Jason was drummering for the Rock Improv group (to which I am co-advisor).
So, as luck would have it, we got a little lost and sidetracked, and I got completely stressed out and rope-ended, despite having Travis and 311 to listen to instead of the usual LI radio shit-spectrum I have to deal with in the vans. I say lucky because after dropping of the boys, I headed down to Houghton to see if any pizza from the party was left, and indeed there was, along with Flie, the Headmaster Mrs., and Mr. Teehop and his three kids. So according to Mr. T. (my teaching mentor, fellow poet, and student life supervisor/english III teacher) I apparently "looked like a basketball coach," what with top button undone and tie akimbo, and perturbed, burnt-out countenance. I started to talk to Headmaster Brown, and my troubles just sort of spewed out, and although at first I thought I had ratted out Mr. T (my alli and friend), all was soon worked out and gossipped-over.
The real redemption part I came when I ran up to catch the Recital: while I expected a typical School-ian/High Schoolish performance, I was HIGHLY impressed at the effort and success many of the numbers exuded.
The show ended, however, with songs from A Chorus Line, and thoughts and bittersweet memories flooded me through. Allen By, a senior honors English student and creative writer, did a solid, rousing rendition of "What I did For Love," and then they danced to the opening sequence. Shivers crept in, too, so I was soaked AND shaking with memories of freshman love and sweat and SMUTCO. And not only that, but seeing so many of my students up there (Raedell, Kaitlin, Rika, Gabby etc.) it just made me BEAM with...pride? I felt like a parent. MORE than a parent. So YES, emotions choked me up momentarily (probably because I was already over-stressed and super-sensibility charged) and I felt refreshed and re-aligned. (Other noteable numbers include a sassy dance to the new Aguilera single "Dirty" and Melina Fillieu's brilliance with Webber's "Tell Me on a Sunday" — a song I've been partial to since I used to listen to his greatest hits while mowing the lawn on Thompson Blvd many years ago). Sigh...
Transcendence Part II: Arrived while back in Woodhouse, later on, involved with a marathon session of Tennis for Playstation II (I first found this game simplistic and un-fun, but having discovered some secret tactics, the game's depth and fun have been released) with the incomparable Chi Li. The kid is INSANE, especially during intense gaming: we both scream after extreme rallies, me in my dorky, triumphant howl with fist-pump, he with Taiwanese flourish and joyous pain: "WHAAAAAA??! YEAH, RLIGHT!" We transcend language and culture and find ourselves equal with the purity of a good video game, and we share our tricks and secrets as readily as we talk our trash.
Meanwhile, Todd Park (Korean) keeps saying while watching our incredible power-angle shots and diving recoveries, "ARE YOU KIDDING?!!?" in an accent as if to inquire if either of us Michael Grosse's sitcom son.
Oh, and "game-boy" is a Korean slang-title of complete reverence bestowed upon a player when they have mastered a certain game. For example, "OOOh, HMo is gameboy!" will be touted while he's crushing me at Tekken with any number of his extra-complicated combo-maneuvers with either King, Jin, or Devil.
So, I had a bad day and afternoon— a rough 48 hours or so, actually, packed with stress and frustration and spiked with few moments of redemption. Just when I think I'm overloaded and justifiably considering loosing my shit, I am saved.
Pissed? Sure I was. First of all, I'm doing dorm duty AND coaching varsity basketball, two duties with plenty of perks and fulfilling aspects, so imagine my ire when, because of inadequate common sense and foresight on the part of certain athletic directors (who are a genetic cross between Mark Taylor and Mrs. Pond (yes it's a mile long)), both responsibilities overlapped: I was supposed to accompany and coach my team to our first victory tomorrow morning in the Portledge Tournament, but I'm also on dorm duty this weekend, and with conflicts, it was decided that I had to not go to the game. We lost the first tourney game tonight, and I had to rush back Hayes and Jason Chen in my car (a van was taken by Coach Barros) to get them back in time for the Performing Arts Concert (which was dyna-fucking-mite, apparently we have a young world-class choreographer/dance instructor)— Hayes was on sound, and Jason was drummering for the Rock Improv group (to which I am co-advisor).
So, as luck would have it, we got a little lost and sidetracked, and I got completely stressed out and rope-ended, despite having Travis and 311 to listen to instead of the usual LI radio shit-spectrum I have to deal with in the vans. I say lucky because after dropping of the boys, I headed down to Houghton to see if any pizza from the party was left, and indeed there was, along with Flie, the Headmaster Mrs., and Mr. Teehop and his three kids. So according to Mr. T. (my teaching mentor, fellow poet, and student life supervisor/english III teacher) I apparently "looked like a basketball coach," what with top button undone and tie akimbo, and perturbed, burnt-out countenance. I started to talk to Headmaster Brown, and my troubles just sort of spewed out, and although at first I thought I had ratted out Mr. T (my alli and friend), all was soon worked out and gossipped-over.
The real redemption part I came when I ran up to catch the Recital: while I expected a typical School-ian/High Schoolish performance, I was HIGHLY impressed at the effort and success many of the numbers exuded.
The show ended, however, with songs from A Chorus Line, and thoughts and bittersweet memories flooded me through. Allen By, a senior honors English student and creative writer, did a solid, rousing rendition of "What I did For Love," and then they danced to the opening sequence. Shivers crept in, too, so I was soaked AND shaking with memories of freshman love and sweat and SMUTCO. And not only that, but seeing so many of my students up there (Raedell, Kaitlin, Rika, Gabby etc.) it just made me BEAM with...pride? I felt like a parent. MORE than a parent. So YES, emotions choked me up momentarily (probably because I was already over-stressed and super-sensibility charged) and I felt refreshed and re-aligned. (Other noteable numbers include a sassy dance to the new Aguilera single "Dirty" and Melina Fillieu's brilliance with Webber's "Tell Me on a Sunday" — a song I've been partial to since I used to listen to his greatest hits while mowing the lawn on Thompson Blvd many years ago). Sigh...
Transcendence Part II: Arrived while back in Woodhouse, later on, involved with a marathon session of Tennis for Playstation II (I first found this game simplistic and un-fun, but having discovered some secret tactics, the game's depth and fun have been released) with the incomparable Chi Li. The kid is INSANE, especially during intense gaming: we both scream after extreme rallies, me in my dorky, triumphant howl with fist-pump, he with Taiwanese flourish and joyous pain: "WHAAAAAA??! YEAH, RLIGHT!" We transcend language and culture and find ourselves equal with the purity of a good video game, and we share our tricks and secrets as readily as we talk our trash.
Meanwhile, Todd Park (Korean) keeps saying while watching our incredible power-angle shots and diving recoveries, "ARE YOU KIDDING?!!?" in an accent as if to inquire if either of us Michael Grosse's sitcom son.
Oh, and "game-boy" is a Korean slang-title of complete reverence bestowed upon a player when they have mastered a certain game. For example, "OOOh, HMo is gameboy!" will be touted while he's crushing me at Tekken with any number of his extra-complicated combo-maneuvers with either King, Jin, or Devil.
Thursday, December 12, 2002
What's Insipid Today Update:
I know it appeared early on in blog-things that I would have a daily (or at the very least "frequent") segment devoted to insipidity (like when people create nouns because they are too lazy to re-word something, but are soon after persuaded they are so creative and clever that it makes them ashamed), BUT (1) I have not been able to watch much television lately, and (2) I don't think it safe to bitch TOO much about the BEE ESS that sometimes comes with working at Knox, a place of beautiful disorganization. Not that the Board or any of the administrators are reading this (if you are...um, heh heh), but still....Besides, this is an incredible job for me at this point in "life" that is rewarding daily (and as often frustrating).
So I will try harder to hunt-down and take-out insipidities (with a little help from my connecticutt yankee friends). See The Cocktail Sermons for Flynn's reaction to over-reaction. Yes, people do not know how to handle odd meteorological phenomena, perhaps a clue to why two brilliant comedies from the 1990s featured protagonists who were weathermen: L.A. Story, and the perfect last-saturday-of-the-semester-after-exam-week-while-eating-strom's-cool-ranch-doritos film, Groundhog Day.
Embarrasing, but catchy, early Built 2 Spill lyric of the day:
"living in the womb/ running out of room/ have to come out soon/ have to meet the sun and moon and..."
I know it appeared early on in blog-things that I would have a daily (or at the very least "frequent") segment devoted to insipidity (like when people create nouns because they are too lazy to re-word something, but are soon after persuaded they are so creative and clever that it makes them ashamed), BUT (1) I have not been able to watch much television lately, and (2) I don't think it safe to bitch TOO much about the BEE ESS that sometimes comes with working at Knox, a place of beautiful disorganization. Not that the Board or any of the administrators are reading this (if you are...um, heh heh), but still....Besides, this is an incredible job for me at this point in "life" that is rewarding daily (and as often frustrating).
So I will try harder to hunt-down and take-out insipidities (with a little help from my connecticutt yankee friends). See The Cocktail Sermons for Flynn's reaction to over-reaction. Yes, people do not know how to handle odd meteorological phenomena, perhaps a clue to why two brilliant comedies from the 1990s featured protagonists who were weathermen: L.A. Story, and the perfect last-saturday-of-the-semester-after-exam-week-while-eating-strom's-cool-ranch-doritos film, Groundhog Day.
Embarrasing, but catchy, early Built 2 Spill lyric of the day:
"living in the womb/ running out of room/ have to come out soon/ have to meet the sun and moon and..."
Disclaimer:
I mean no offense to any snooze-bar lovers/devotees/addicts. God or bio-chemists know how different levels of seratonin (sp?) or what-hormone-have-you will make people's sleep habits differ. To Erin and all you snoozers, I'm sorry to lump you with snooty antagonists from great screwball teen comedies from the 80s (Caddyshack I and II, Better Off Dead, National Lampoon's Christmas (gulp) Vacation, Meatballs, etc).
I mean no offense to any snooze-bar lovers/devotees/addicts. God or bio-chemists know how different levels of seratonin (sp?) or what-hormone-have-you will make people's sleep habits differ. To Erin and all you snoozers, I'm sorry to lump you with snooty antagonists from great screwball teen comedies from the 80s (Caddyshack I and II, Better Off Dead, National Lampoon's Christmas (gulp) Vacation, Meatballs, etc).
Sleep/State Report
I had an epic poet night and drank only from the wooden bowl, thus I awoke fresh yet still lethargic. Now that the number of times I have to be at breakfast has drastically declined, I think my days have become harder to jump-start. I'm actually "snoozing," a practice I heretofore held in vitriolic contempt. There's something 80s-YUPPIE about hitting that damn extra-large button on the clock radio. By the way, I often find it fascinating that I've had the same clock-radio in service since I was in 3rd grade! (I had a Mickey-Mouse old-fashioned wind-up bell-clanger, but the noise it made scare-fucked me into digital). The model is out of date, for sure, and it bares many scars: half the buttons on the top are encrusted in a strange, un-moist sludge that makes their ability to be pressed-down sluggish— this is due to an incident in 7th/8th grade where I had a late-night hankering for grape juice (a fettish at the time) and clumsily cuffed it all over my bedside table and brand-new beige carpet (mom's choice)— and the glass protecting the face and AM/FM tuner-bar is cracked and broken in one corner, an injury sustained when I foolishly packed it on top of a huge pile of clothes in a duffel bag when returning to Colgate at the start of the Spring semester, so when Laura went to close my trunk for me, something crushed into the bag and did the damage (not that I blame you, sweety, it's on me). I'm proud of these badges, these broken bits. They are two stories I can reference visually anytime I need to know the time.
I had an epic poet night and drank only from the wooden bowl, thus I awoke fresh yet still lethargic. Now that the number of times I have to be at breakfast has drastically declined, I think my days have become harder to jump-start. I'm actually "snoozing," a practice I heretofore held in vitriolic contempt. There's something 80s-YUPPIE about hitting that damn extra-large button on the clock radio. By the way, I often find it fascinating that I've had the same clock-radio in service since I was in 3rd grade! (I had a Mickey-Mouse old-fashioned wind-up bell-clanger, but the noise it made scare-fucked me into digital). The model is out of date, for sure, and it bares many scars: half the buttons on the top are encrusted in a strange, un-moist sludge that makes their ability to be pressed-down sluggish— this is due to an incident in 7th/8th grade where I had a late-night hankering for grape juice (a fettish at the time) and clumsily cuffed it all over my bedside table and brand-new beige carpet (mom's choice)— and the glass protecting the face and AM/FM tuner-bar is cracked and broken in one corner, an injury sustained when I foolishly packed it on top of a huge pile of clothes in a duffel bag when returning to Colgate at the start of the Spring semester, so when Laura went to close my trunk for me, something crushed into the bag and did the damage (not that I blame you, sweety, it's on me). I'm proud of these badges, these broken bits. They are two stories I can reference visually anytime I need to know the time.
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
LAAAST NIYIGHT, I had drinx.
So here's what happened:
Adrian Berose and I coached our first varsity boys basketball game to a respectable loss. I say respectable because we faced, at home, a Bronx team (Martin Luther) that is out of our leage (I.P.S.A.A.L.) and out of league (talent). They were much taller, better drilled, and recruited to play ball, as well (unlike The School which takes as they come and MAKES them great). Apparently, this was Our first game last year, too, and they lost by a margin of 40+ points. Last night, we lessened the gap! — lost by only 28 or so. Many of my more fundamentally solid players froze stiff. Jason Chen played well, breaking the full court press by himself several times.
The School atheletes are archetypically awkward violent, and they play hard. Mutt Launds is a perfect example: a very candid, caring young man, but equally bitter and sarcastic. He's also 6' 5'' and a novice basketball player. He gets his anger out through sports a lot, and watching him fills me with awe and squeam. He panics when he gets the ball and throws it up instantly, and then loses his head in frustration. He improved a lot, though, in the second half: he made a couple nice drop-steps, and a circus-worthy fade-away jumper off the backboard. WE have a lot to work on in practice today to prepare for the Portledge Tourney (by the way, many people here pronounce it "tore-nament" and not "turn-ament").
So, to celebrate, Adrian and I went to a local sports bar on 25-A we had seen. It's located at bookend of a strip-mall, but was actually quite nice and spacious inside: two pool tables with plenty of room to accomodate all angles, 2 dart boards, a large raised-bar area with Guiness, Sammy, Bud, Bud Light, Coors on tap and a friendly, expert barkeepess donning felt reindeer antlers. There were more different games on the televisions than people in the bar, but the Sammy was fresh and so were we. He beat me in cricket (again).
Feeling saucy after two pints, Adrian dropped my off at Terrace and I made myself a companion-drink with which to write the English IV Pope and Wit quEST. In the end, it was brilliant and I was drunker, so I sort of passed out (in my bed, at least). I guess it doesn't count as a "black-out" as long as you sleep in your bed, right? Maybe even if at least one body part has crossed the threshold into your room? Kidding — I didn't really black out.
The Pope quEST
The most pregnant question on the quEST compounded our dissecton of Far Side cartoons with Pope's "Essay on Criticism:" Larson drew a caveman-artist knocked dead by his sitting-subject's club, and we see that he eschewed capturing truthfully his subject's simeon-ish, brute visage, and replaced it with a groomed, talk-show host face with greased coif. Larson's footer reads "Modern Art Critic. " The students had to break down the comedic-mechanics of the image, and then relate it to the following lines from Pope: "'Tis with our judgements as our watches, none/ Go just alike, yet each believes his own." If I had a scanner (or a dig. camera), I'd post the image. SOmeday...
Most students aquitted themselves nicely. Three-quarters done grading, the class average is around 85, which is decent. The writing from my better students is mostly brilliant on par with their usual luster.
High Scorers:
TL
SA
RC (natch)
So here's what happened:
Adrian Berose and I coached our first varsity boys basketball game to a respectable loss. I say respectable because we faced, at home, a Bronx team (Martin Luther) that is out of our leage (I.P.S.A.A.L.) and out of league (talent). They were much taller, better drilled, and recruited to play ball, as well (unlike The School which takes as they come and MAKES them great). Apparently, this was Our first game last year, too, and they lost by a margin of 40+ points. Last night, we lessened the gap! — lost by only 28 or so. Many of my more fundamentally solid players froze stiff. Jason Chen played well, breaking the full court press by himself several times.
The School atheletes are archetypically awkward violent, and they play hard. Mutt Launds is a perfect example: a very candid, caring young man, but equally bitter and sarcastic. He's also 6' 5'' and a novice basketball player. He gets his anger out through sports a lot, and watching him fills me with awe and squeam. He panics when he gets the ball and throws it up instantly, and then loses his head in frustration. He improved a lot, though, in the second half: he made a couple nice drop-steps, and a circus-worthy fade-away jumper off the backboard. WE have a lot to work on in practice today to prepare for the Portledge Tourney (by the way, many people here pronounce it "tore-nament" and not "turn-ament").
So, to celebrate, Adrian and I went to a local sports bar on 25-A we had seen. It's located at bookend of a strip-mall, but was actually quite nice and spacious inside: two pool tables with plenty of room to accomodate all angles, 2 dart boards, a large raised-bar area with Guiness, Sammy, Bud, Bud Light, Coors on tap and a friendly, expert barkeepess donning felt reindeer antlers. There were more different games on the televisions than people in the bar, but the Sammy was fresh and so were we. He beat me in cricket (again).
Feeling saucy after two pints, Adrian dropped my off at Terrace and I made myself a companion-drink with which to write the English IV Pope and Wit quEST. In the end, it was brilliant and I was drunker, so I sort of passed out (in my bed, at least). I guess it doesn't count as a "black-out" as long as you sleep in your bed, right? Maybe even if at least one body part has crossed the threshold into your room? Kidding — I didn't really black out.
The Pope quEST
The most pregnant question on the quEST compounded our dissecton of Far Side cartoons with Pope's "Essay on Criticism:" Larson drew a caveman-artist knocked dead by his sitting-subject's club, and we see that he eschewed capturing truthfully his subject's simeon-ish, brute visage, and replaced it with a groomed, talk-show host face with greased coif. Larson's footer reads "Modern Art Critic. " The students had to break down the comedic-mechanics of the image, and then relate it to the following lines from Pope: "'Tis with our judgements as our watches, none/ Go just alike, yet each believes his own." If I had a scanner (or a dig. camera), I'd post the image. SOmeday...
Most students aquitted themselves nicely. Three-quarters done grading, the class average is around 85, which is decent. The writing from my better students is mostly brilliant on par with their usual luster.
High Scorers:
TL
SA
RC (natch)
Monday, December 09, 2002
draft 6, maybe the last. title still open:
"The Grip"
"Join Me"
"What We've Made, Where We're Going"
"Campbell's Point Beach, Leafless"
"Swimming In November"
???
"Winter Launch"
A grip on your wrist
Should never satisfy me,
but it does. Well,
we've built a box of silent tools
and a cheat room protocol;
let's see if they float.
A burning twine-tether
as I walk backwards into the lake
is never slack, and you understand so neatly the water
is murky but clean
and vibrant bass hide in the weed-shade;
let's see if we float.
A grip on water is cold arrest:
What is numb is still mine with a dream of heat
I have the love of men dying under snow.
"The Grip"
"Join Me"
"What We've Made, Where We're Going"
"Campbell's Point Beach, Leafless"
"Swimming In November"
???
"Winter Launch"
A grip on your wrist
Should never satisfy me,
but it does. Well,
we've built a box of silent tools
and a cheat room protocol;
let's see if they float.
A burning twine-tether
as I walk backwards into the lake
is never slack, and you understand so neatly the water
is murky but clean
and vibrant bass hide in the weed-shade;
let's see if we float.
A grip on water is cold arrest:
What is numb is still mine with a dream of heat
I have the love of men dying under snow.
Munday, Munday. fuck me, I just wrote a 20 minute post and blogger erased it during an error. fuck fuckity.
I'll try and recapture.
Curricular Synopsis:
English IV: Had a vocabulary quiz today, of the newer, "beefier" variety (all part of my plan to gradually increase the difficulty level as my perspectives on teaching, and on my students' capabilities, refine). Else, we finished up our discussions on Alexander Pope by reading selections from the "Essay on Criticism" and then opining for 15 minutes. A quEST (quiz < quEST < TEST) is slated for Wednesday, but that may be pushed back a day depending on the success of today's/tomorrow's review and practice with interpreting Pope's wit and wordplay. A Far Side cartoon will also appear on the quEST in the short answer section.
English I: Vocabulary quiz which many students bombed, except for the ever-brilliant Min Kyu Kim and Mike Imbrogno. Certain normally sharp students have apparently not returned from vacation, and are, no doubt, eager to link up with the upcoming Winter break, yielding them seven total weeks of apathy and relaxtion. For the rest of the week, as part of the non-fiction unit, the students are to choose some topic/concept and review it (my classes always seem to overlap): shoes, snow, joy, for examples.
Observations on Sundays and Winter Break forthcoming...
I'll try and recapture.
Curricular Synopsis:
English IV: Had a vocabulary quiz today, of the newer, "beefier" variety (all part of my plan to gradually increase the difficulty level as my perspectives on teaching, and on my students' capabilities, refine). Else, we finished up our discussions on Alexander Pope by reading selections from the "Essay on Criticism" and then opining for 15 minutes. A quEST (quiz < quEST < TEST) is slated for Wednesday, but that may be pushed back a day depending on the success of today's/tomorrow's review and practice with interpreting Pope's wit and wordplay. A Far Side cartoon will also appear on the quEST in the short answer section.
English I: Vocabulary quiz which many students bombed, except for the ever-brilliant Min Kyu Kim and Mike Imbrogno. Certain normally sharp students have apparently not returned from vacation, and are, no doubt, eager to link up with the upcoming Winter break, yielding them seven total weeks of apathy and relaxtion. For the rest of the week, as part of the non-fiction unit, the students are to choose some topic/concept and review it (my classes always seem to overlap): shoes, snow, joy, for examples.
Observations on Sundays and Winter Break forthcoming...
Weekend Synopsis:
Yet another thrilling 32 hours were spent in Hamilton, NY. Cabaret, though spotty, was on the whole a smashing success, with a particularly well-executed second-half. Some characters shone more than others, noteably Ari as Herr Schultz, Matt Brogan as the Emcee (pitch-perfect, even killer), Jane Murlin as Fraulein Schneider. The German accents were mostly buyable, and often amusink.
The Kit Kat Girlz were deliciously dirty (especially the one who just wore a bra for a top, wink x 2).
The cast party was held in a downtown appt. with traditional SMutCo. style, but under close supervision by the cast member/tenant who enforced such completely paradoxical sanctions as "no loud music" and "no nudity." Plenty of too-much-too-fast and releasing of pent-up amorous feelings were to be seen and enjoyed. It was no "How To Succeed..."-party, but not every bash can be mythic.
In other news (and I will be vague here), I have been reinstated. I'm thrilled, and if you know what I mean, then you know what I mean.
The drive from Colgate back to The School was highly treacherous for the first two hours. Rte. 8 was under slush and sleet attack, and the Hyundai's ass was all over the place. Luckily, years of practice in Watertown have left me with solid snow-driving skills, and I managed to get home alive, despite taking 5 minutes to climb a slippery hill with 2-wheel drive and scant traction.
Yet another thrilling 32 hours were spent in Hamilton, NY. Cabaret, though spotty, was on the whole a smashing success, with a particularly well-executed second-half. Some characters shone more than others, noteably Ari as Herr Schultz, Matt Brogan as the Emcee (pitch-perfect, even killer), Jane Murlin as Fraulein Schneider. The German accents were mostly buyable, and often amusink.
The Kit Kat Girlz were deliciously dirty (especially the one who just wore a bra for a top, wink x 2).
The cast party was held in a downtown appt. with traditional SMutCo. style, but under close supervision by the cast member/tenant who enforced such completely paradoxical sanctions as "no loud music" and "no nudity." Plenty of too-much-too-fast and releasing of pent-up amorous feelings were to be seen and enjoyed. It was no "How To Succeed..."-party, but not every bash can be mythic.
In other news (and I will be vague here), I have been reinstated. I'm thrilled, and if you know what I mean, then you know what I mean.
The drive from Colgate back to The School was highly treacherous for the first two hours. Rte. 8 was under slush and sleet attack, and the Hyundai's ass was all over the place. Luckily, years of practice in Watertown have left me with solid snow-driving skills, and I managed to get home alive, despite taking 5 minutes to climb a slippery hill with 2-wheel drive and scant traction.
