Blister Update (Day Six): The Dressening

1) Bandaged!

2) Shoed!

3) Professor Mason Goes to Party!

Happy Bubbly Day

Blister Update (Day Five): The Sleddening

Righty and Lefty are doing great today, even after hockey yesterday and climbing hills tonight while sledding at Minikahda Vista Park. My poor shoes were severely waterlogged. But my feet barely hurt anymore--just when I walk.

Don't I have lovely pointe? No sickling or nothin'. Are you reading, Bryan G.? And no flat feet in the Mason family. We all could have been dancers, but most of us were content to provide the music instead. Seriously, you don't want to see anyone in my family dance except Mah. The Hawkman dances like a guy named The Hawkman. Put together, Timmon and Luke are sixteen feet tall and I still outweigh them. And you've seen Justin dance if you've ever seen any Girls Gone Wild videos; yeah, he's the guy in the background.

Blister Update (Day Three): The Bandagening

They look worse but they feel better, trust me. Lefty got lucky yesterday since our hockey plans fell through. No such luck tonight, lefty. You got an extra day to heal up, to unswell and unpuss. Ya done good, kid. Now get in those damned skates. Tonight, I'll protect you with four layers and a bandage--Note: not bandaid, but bandage. My new no-bandaid streak is still in tact (My last one lasted years until this summer when a dull-but-sharp-enough box cutter at Jake's snagged some dense cardboard, slipped out of its corrugated prey, and found delicious thumb flesh.).

Bandaids are for children and secretaries. Bandages are for wounds that even machismo can't bind, therefore, something to be proud of. Let's not get carried away, though. The beta in me never wants to see a bandage bigger than 3" x 4" (7.6cm x 10.1cm, for you meterites), my current bandages. Gauze and dressing are first aid terms I definitely want nothing to do with. So, fellas, let's keep the pucks down tonight--I'm lookin' at you, Damian.

Blister Update (Day Two): The Raspberrying

Righty is healing up much better than lefty, which is turning a deep raspberry. Lefty still hurts when I stand on it--all the blood rushing to the wound, you know. Righty is fine, less puffy, less glistening. Both righty and lefty have about four hours to heal up as much as possible before I punish them again at Nelson Park in SLP. Four hours, lefty. That's all you have. No amount of crying in the form of pussy tears on Amanda's carpet will save you from the Skates of Squeezing Doom of Rubbing (Bauer Supreme 2090s).

...

I play hockey.

What Fun

I like her idea, who spread it to him, her, him, her, and probably a bunch of other people but I'm done looking. It's far too late/early for me to come up with fifteen thangs about me right now. I'd rather invite embarrassment and ask you all to come up with FTtMPPDKAM (Fifteen Things that Most People Probably Don't Know About Me). Tell truths or make stuff up--I don't care. The excitement will be in the mystery. Or it'll be lame because I'll find out I have a readership of four and a half.

I foresee a first-day activity with my new Comp students: Make them come up with five lame ones (Like, once I went to a Blink 182 concert and totally made, like, eye contact with Tom--like, real eye contact, like--like, a connection! Then Travis totally threw his drumsticks into the audience and they, like, and they totally hit me and, like, gave me splinters which got all, like, infected and, like...) Then whip out my list, full of the filth only Patrick and Sire could come up with. Maybe this isn't such a good idea...

Oh, I guess I should reserve the right to remove any comments with the words "polyp orchard," "reach-around," and/or "August '97."

Otherwise, whatever. Go crazy. Just have fun with it.

Mace...out

Which Reminds Me...

...lovely Patrick will be in town Friday night. This means--yes, you guessed it--Blue Bricks, fo shizzy. This means Patrick's Windsor Cokes, fo shizzy. This means darts, fo maybeez? This means peeing on Amanda's Saturn, fo shizzy. This means perhaps the last time Patrick will see Kato for a long time, fo unfortunate shizzy.

Sire will be there. If Sire and Patrick aren't enough of a reason to drink and eat the delicious that Blue Bricks offers (Michele tells me their Pesto Cheesebread is new and improved), I don't know what more coaxing you need. Here goes: This is not like the last time I tempted you all to join us; this may just be Patrick's fo shizzy-fo shizzy last time. For me, it'll be like a rear-naked choke, as in "all choked up." There's no tapping-out of this one though. The only concession after this will be visiting Patrick in Baltimore, or during St. John hobbit-like holiday feasts in Prescott.

Unless you're lame, and have left Kato by Friday, we'll see you there.

Mace...out

...

"Why don't princes fight the war? Why do they always send the poor?" At least our prince is finally taking responsibility.

Jack Black...

...might say that I made that final poetry essay my bitch and fucked its fanny hard. But Jackolis McBlacklesbee is prone to exaggerate. So we'll see... We shall see...

Sometimes, I Don't Want the Semester to End.

'Tude O 'Tude... Can I fail her just so she has to take my class again this spring?

Tonight (Thursday) was the first of two dance concerts over at the Ted Paul Theater in the Performing Arts building. I drum for two pieces in the concert (including an Afro/Caribbean piece that makes your pants move). I'm king of shameless plugs, so of course I mentioned the concert to my comp class--No, class, there will be no extra credit if you go. I mentioned because it's my experience that you never know when you might bump into someone who danced for years and years but stopped and now misses it and would be interested in not just the concert but maybe taking some classes too. I've heard it a hundred times.

I also mentioned it just to do my part to spread the word, plant the seeds--seeds of faith-ah. Yeah, I recruit for English and Dance. I never imagined that any of my students would actually go. But I get an email from 'Tude tonight saying how "fabulous" I did "banging" on my "bongos". I don't think I've ever played bongos in my life. I play djembe and conga in the concert, which I made sure to tell the class because I'm a snob like that. So, her use of "bongos" is a subtle jab, trust me. There's never just a compliment; there is always something underneath too.

This is the way it should be! If I had it my way, all correspondence would be so complimentary, playful, and tart--especially with students! The potential to learn--the readiness to learn--is limitless in this kind of comfy environment with cold pillows.

I don't doubt that she enjoyed the concert--but there's even another level. Here's where the bargaining comes in; playful, tarty bargaining. She writes that since she came to my concert, I shouldn't mark her absent tomorrow in class. Set me up. Knock me down. If you've taken Screenwriting with TD, the phrase "rise-n-fall of emotion" might come to mind.

It's the most thought out ass-kissing/deal-striking proposition a student has attempted and I want it to never end. Of course, the whole situation would be different if she wasn't 'Tude and if she wasn't one of my brightest. In any other case, I might reply to the email with, "Glad you enjoyed it! Consider your attendance dot-checked!" And then go ahead and mark her absent. I might do that anyway just to keep 'Tude's game going.

So maybe I'll carry an extra two when figuring out her grade (which I now know how to do. Thanks, E!) just so she's on my roster in January. Better luck this spring, 'Tude. Class is on Tuesdays and Fridays at noon in AH204. No, there's no extra credit for taking my class twice.

Like I said, I'm King of Shameless Plugs: The second dance concert is Friday, December 9 at 4pm in the Ted Paul Theater in the Performing Arts Building. Price: 6-ish bucks? Payoff: You get to see my embarrassing head motions and eyebrow twitches while I play.

Mace...out with twitches

Erin Goodmentor

As John Buccigross claims to love all 30 NHL teams, I would have been happy with any of our mentors this year. While Bucci pretends parity with his love, I can't. Erin has my undivided mentee-love. She's helped me in every teaching "problem" I've had this year with champine advice. I haven't had huge problems, or that many for that matter, but she came through each and every time I needed her to.

Like today, for instance--O as if you didn't smell an example coming--she helped me with the fundamentals of grading-grading, capital-G Grade-for-semester. Before being soothed and petted and cooed to by Erin, I'd look down at my gradebook with all the checks, underlined checks, circled checks, dotted checks, checks of all derivatives in wrong boxes, columns of boxes that should have some sort of check, boxes with a letter grade over percent grade next to other letter/percent grades for revisions... It's enough to make a guy poo a bit. Gradebook Turtleheading. As if the confusion in the gradebook were a massive hand wrapped around my torso, squeezing enough to make stuff come out.

Erin can see this in my eyes as I start off. "Well..." Look down at grade book. "I guess..." Back up to Erin. "Ya see the thing..." Gradebook. "The dotted checks, well they..." And she's smiling! The fuck?

From early August up to about 11:50am today, grading was vaporous--depth-perception defiant like looking through chainlink fences--as profound as profundity gets. Do you hit or hug someone who can explain profundities with a few choice words?

"S'ok, man. Just do this... [poof!] That's what I do."

If the resulting look I gave her were three words, they'd be, "Oh. Well, duh."

I'm sure I'd mentee-love any of our mentors. They've all been wonderful friends and helpful vets. But I only have one mentor, and she gets hugs.

Mace...out

I Couldn't Decide on a Post Title...

...because "Oh My God" and "Holy Crap" would both be good.

Jonce is master of awesome movies lately. As you'll see if you follow the next link, he claims he laughed until he teared up. I was skeptical but...

Jean Brings it Out of Me

I had to--just had to--comment on Jean's latest BigShoes-related post:

Against Comment Etiquette, I prepare to rant:

I think Jean and I are are in direct and heated competition for BigShoes' Most Hated Foe status. I didn't know I was in the business of making enemies until she clomped into our room, waving Young Adult Only propaganda, blurting such gems as, "I just don't GET short stories," and telling us she prefers flat, stock, and undetailed minor characters--but only in quick-read novels under 200 pages with holograms on the cover. Apparently, claiming "personal preference" trumps all adult/grad. student responsibility for learning our craft/s.

I want to make violence on her.

Mace...out

Much Like a Mogwai...

...shouldn't be allowed to eat after midnight, I shouldn't be allowed to grade papers after, say, 4am. At this time, I do not retreat into a mucousy coccoon and emerge later with more scales and a shock of white mohawk. Instead, I write things on papers that might make my students question my togetherness, my--O how to put it eloquently?--my I'm-not-crazy.

I graded final drafts of my students' argumentative syntheses tonight, far too late as unity would have it. My process consists of referencing previous drafts of papers while grading revisions. I look over the old draft real quick like just to refresh my memory of how well-off or doomed-off the student is. I usually flip right to the back page to read my maniacal, red-penned end comment. The following is one of my end comments for which I have only a faint recollection:

"Tweak things further to make this paper feel driven by your argument. Right now, it feels like more of a critique of a subject, as in:
Here's an orange. I think oranges are great.

Instead, your paper should feel like:
I think oranges are great. O here's an orange. Isn't that great?

Does that make any sense?
Jared"

While I don't really remember writing this, I remember thinking "I'm going to have to remember this."

When I more-or-less unconsciously end-comment in this fashion, am I doing this student any good at all? Was I to begin with? I think, maybe, the orange example might have helped: She's an A-student. Sometimes, though, I think I might be better off dousing myself with water, watching my spine bubble and spout larval eggs that will later, after sufficient incubation, spawn bizarro multiplications of myself. But that's what teaching's all about anyway, right?

Mace...out