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< # Blogging Bitches ? >Wednesday, October 15, 2003
When I'm rushin' on my run & I fee-ull jus'like Jesus' son . . . .
Just got back a while ago from guest lecturing, if that's the right phrase, in Anneliese's 7th-grade English class and felt like masturbating. No, silly, not 'cuz of all those glinting kids oozing puberty like mashed potatoes from every pore; it's the amphetamine surge an hour of teaching flashfloods through my bloodstream (especially since I've been off it for a few years--the teaching, not the amphetamines [how could I perform basic bodily functions without those?]). I come home all mind-racing and excited and don't know what to do with myself. I'm sorta tired 'cuz I got up early to get my act together, but I'm sorta zooming from all that thinking and talking. Should I take a nap? Should I blog? Oh, I've got an idea . . . .
Well, you weren't home and I couldn't wait. . . . Carpe pudendum . . . .
The seventh grade has spent the whole year so far on The Hound of the Baskervilles. Hence the references to it in Mikarrhea way, way back. I figured I was fated to volunteer: I was a Sherlock nerd for many years, from middle school through college, belonging simultaneously to four different "scion societies" of the Baker Street Irregulars, the über fan group started in the thirties by Christopher Morley and a couple of other round Algonquin Table sachems; I wrote my undergraduate thesis on Holmes; I've taught Holmes in undergraduate seminars; and I own (albeit in boxes in my mom's house in Michigan) the complete run of The Strand Magazine in its original bound volumes from 1892 to 1904 (including Hound, whose volumes I got my mom to send out).
I really wanted to use the phrase "positivism infused by Romanticism," but I thought it would be too much to explain. The kids liked looking at the old books, though.
Just got back a while ago from guest lecturing, if that's the right phrase, in Anneliese's 7th-grade English class and felt like masturbating. No, silly, not 'cuz of all those glinting kids oozing puberty like mashed potatoes from every pore; it's the amphetamine surge an hour of teaching flashfloods through my bloodstream (especially since I've been off it for a few years--the teaching, not the amphetamines [how could I perform basic bodily functions without those?]). I come home all mind-racing and excited and don't know what to do with myself. I'm sorta tired 'cuz I got up early to get my act together, but I'm sorta zooming from all that thinking and talking. Should I take a nap? Should I blog? Oh, I've got an idea . . . .
Well, you weren't home and I couldn't wait. . . . Carpe pudendum . . . .
The seventh grade has spent the whole year so far on The Hound of the Baskervilles. Hence the references to it in Mikarrhea way, way back. I figured I was fated to volunteer: I was a Sherlock nerd for many years, from middle school through college, belonging simultaneously to four different "scion societies" of the Baker Street Irregulars, the über fan group started in the thirties by Christopher Morley and a couple of other round Algonquin Table sachems; I wrote my undergraduate thesis on Holmes; I've taught Holmes in undergraduate seminars; and I own (albeit in boxes in my mom's house in Michigan) the complete run of The Strand Magazine in its original bound volumes from 1892 to 1904 (including Hound, whose volumes I got my mom to send out).
I really wanted to use the phrase "positivism infused by Romanticism," but I thought it would be too much to explain. The kids liked looking at the old books, though.
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