the letter u (winkwildly) wrote,
the letter u

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Professor Banzafh, name one way you're not Hitler.

i haven't written in LJ for so long that the little pen icon for my client has slid entirely off my start menu. things have been good, on the whole. we watched a shurik movie in Russian today, so all's as it should be. i guess this is a little late, but i've wanted to describe my American Fiction professor for a while now. he's a stereotypical english teacher in some ways. when he talks, it's as if everything is filtered through his beard, and he makes very subtle subversive political statements in class. but then like, today he showed up and looked as if he'd been caulking. there was some kind of white powder dusting the entire front of his shirt. and the thing is, he's sometimes riotously funny and sometimes uncle funny, and being that it's my first morning class three days a week, my laughter-response has gotten very arbitrary, which for some reason really freaks me out. i can also imagine him more than any other instructor i've had getting involved in a sexual harrassment suit and being totally flabbergasted.

there's more but i think i've hit the edge of creepy. what i should be doing is reading to catch up to what's actually going on in the class. i don't know if it's me not devoting enough energy to intense study, or the light workload i'm taking, or maybe just the things i choose to absorb, but what i find myself "learning", the things that stick, seem to all be tidbits. for example, Oneida silverware is made by the descendants of the Oneida Society, a 19th century utopian commune that believed in polygamy. ask me about any of the themes from Young Goodman Brown. i studied that less than a year ago and i've got nothin. my Russian is getting considerably better though, a little less jagged to read and a little smoother to speak.

i went to SE for a clark thing, and i realized how much i've missed it. taking the bus and knowing nearly exactly where i am in relation to my surroundings is a feeling i'd taken for granted. out in hillsboro, i don't know what cedar hills has to do with oak hills drive and everything's a freaking diagonal terrace or parkway. and obviously, i miss being less than an hour from downtown. give me back the streets where i can close my eyes and know what's on either side of me.

oh, my mother got married. that's something. nothing much has changed in that department. i was asked to give a toast at their wedding party and i'm pretty sure i used the phrase "good to get it all down on paper", which inspired lyosha the violinist (i have no idea what he actually does for a living, but he looks like one. ask anybody) to applaud me for my sweeping words of sentiment. this is getting kind of disgustingly long so i'm gonna go. i hope i haven't wasted your scroll bar pixels. good day.

update: i just put this book on hold and am now off to dream delicious bowtie dreams.
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