Let's see. . .
Weird dreams about the ex, the competition is almost silent, there are rumors about Carnegie Hall, TAs are being renewed. . .
Even more ellipses? . . . maybe.
D is in the air to New Orleans. The process of which was made a bit trickier by a mid spring snow storm in Minneapolis and Chicago. People are driving from Chicago to Omaha so they can continue their business travels. Oh, the middle of the country is a fucking mess. For travel. As an example of global warming. Oh, wait, too small a sample.
But here's a scary moment from yesterday: Our avuncular Iowa speaker very cheefully said, "So this guy says we've pretty much seen the end of the world for humans." And kept going. Tra-la-la. It doesn't help that I'm watching Children of Men out of the corner of my eye.
Let me catch my breath.
So. Dobrin and Weisser continued. . . This is a book that's about half as long as it actually is. When you find yourself defending your straw man structures, just fucking cut that section out. I like the book, I like what they're trying to do, but the piece feels like it should have been a monograph for SWR. There's a whole lot of repetition--it turns out that composition classes should be less about reading and more, much more--entirely--, about teaching writing. I'm in about 130 pages, and they've not started writing about classroom practices. This strategy may be cautious, but I'm losing patience. So. I'm going to write a review that says it's an important book, and that's true, but it could be better. Can those categories co-exist? I sigh.
And after I sigh, I turn to the poetry. Audre Lorde continues to get better as I move through her career. I wonder about my own, though. Not feeling sanguine about the work right about now. But I'm going to turn from the gorgeous, drenched images of the movie to words. Words on a page. I'm all about the black and white.
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