Head. Present. Fingers. All ten. Feet. Tired but functional. Ankle. Slightly swollen, but functional. Eyes. Tired.
The lovely and talented Monica Ong is busily working on my new website which will include blogging capabilities. I'd let you take a peek, but I think I should let the maestro do her work.
So far, in our long poem class, I'm sensing fatigue. Students are tired of working on the same project, which is part of the problem of mandatory obsession. So stuck are they in the realm of narrative that they don't understand a long poem is more than its narrative. A long poem is about resonance. Tone. The only way to understand these concepts--read more long poems.
We're on Carson's Autobiography of Red right now, and so far they seem to embrace the book. The problem with the book--the way the bulk of it models the novel. As a teacher of the class, I'm more invested in them understanding how the apendices and the interview contained in the book are even more tonally significant than the actual "novel" but I'm not sure that lesson is sinking in, and I'm not seeing the change or variation in their own work. Which, in the end, is okay. It's a foolhardy exercise to expect a long poem from 20-23 year-olds in a span of 10 weeks.
Ultimately, I'm more interested in the exercise. We're doing studies before we tackle the huge canvas.
So, I bought Mass Effect 2. Cinematic. Very cinematic. Do I have time to play the game? Hell no, but like I said in the previous post, I bought the first game, got hooked, and enjoyed myself for the months that I played. Sometimes, when the kid's asleep, I need a little "me time" outside of letters.
Superbowl Scenario: Peyton Manning and the Colts are up big on the New Orleans Saints. In the fourth quarter, up by almost 20 points, Manning decides to hand the Saints defense the ball on consecutive plays. This he does willingly, being Archie Manning's son and having lived much of his young life in New Orleans.
The Superbowl ends in a draw and all proceeds go to the rebuilding of the 9th Ward.