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In the book business all success is really just back pay. --Molly Friedrich |
Saturday, February 12, 2000 Classes, Charges, and Culture I love e-mail. See, I e-mailed the English 252 professor on Friday, to see if I could still get into her course, given the circumstances. And she responded, saying that the course was kinda full, but she'd make an exception for me, so I'm in. Without e-mail, I would've had to wait until the next class, on Tuesday, or taken my chances with her voice-mail. And I probably wouldn't have been able to prepare for class in advance. Now all I have to do is get my hands on a copy of Roxana, by Defoe, and read two-thirds of it. With any luck, I'll know somebody else in the class and will be able to get the notes from the first three sessions. Anyway, she sent me a copy of the syllabus, and despite the fact that I was hoping that this would be my semester off, the "me" of three years ago is starting to get excited. It looks as if it's going to be challenging, but potentially very rewarding. For the first time in ages, I'm allowing myself to hope that this might approach the level of my all-time favorite course. Who knows? Stranger things have happened...
That's the thing, you see. I got spoiled in my first two semesters, with the first having my best course ever (on literary study), and the second having my best workshop. No literature course since has come close to being as good as the first; no workshop since has been especially helpful. I put lots of effort into both, and my best writings in college are all from those first two semesters. Spoiled, that's what I am. But hope springs eternal. And better that I at least had two outstanding classes, rather than not having had any. Which is not to say that my other classes have all been bad. Given them all to do over again, there are a couple of English classes I'd have traded in, but the overwhelming majority have been pretty good, and I learned stuff, and I'm glad to have taken them. But having had a taste of the really good stuff... ...well, like I said, I'm spoiled. And having said that three times, I'm gonna move on.
Anyway. I spent Shabbos with the family, in the new house in Woodmere, which I saw for the first time when I arrived. My father gave me the grand tour, and I had to admit that the new place is pretty darn cool. Lots of space; lots more storage space; wheelchair-accessable ground floor; and, well, it's generally spiffy. Supposedly, my mother may be coming home this week. Although I've heard that before. But with any luck, it'll happen. I'm looking forward to seeing her again, this time in a non-clinical setting. I miss her.
Moving right along, before this gets too maudlin... my phone bill arrived, and my long-distance charges for the month turned out to be fairly manageable, especially considering how many calls I made. $18.16, including tax, which covers two calls to Israel, three to Utah, three to New Jersey, and one 94-minute call to Massachusetts (which accounted for a third of the charges). I shudder to think how much the total would have been without 10-10-321 and 10-10-220. But, then, without 'em, I probably wouldn't have made half those calls in the first place...
Sunday night, I'm going to a benefit performance of The Vagina Monologues at Columbia University, which I'm supposed to be reviewing for the college paper. (I expect to use my pseudonym, for fairly obvious reasons.) Oughta be interesting. With any luck, I'll make it into Manhattan early, so I can pick up a copy of Roxana for class. And perhaps stop by Tower Records, so I can use the $25 gift certificate I got from MyPoints.Com for clicking on lots of their links over the past few years. I may be back in that general neighborhood again on Wednesday, for a reading marking the release of Best American Erotica 2000 (in my capacity as a Clean Sheets staffer), but that's still up in the air at the moment. Plus, I'd like to see one of Kymm's plays already. It hasn't happened yet -- they always seem to be scheduled at times when I can't make it -- but the final performance of her latest, next Sunday night, might be possible. We'll see, I guess.
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