NYU is having a classroom crunch this year.


Let me say that again.



For some reason that, even considering my vast intellect, I can not conceive, NYU is having trouble finding classrooms for all of its classes. I, for example, walked into my 15 person class to find that I was in a room large enough for eleven sewer rats. Now part of the reason I opted out of teaching for public schools was to avoid this very problem. I shouldn't have to be calling up people the second week of classes and saying "Uh, yeah, unless you want my students to sit on each other's laps you NEED to get me a new classroom. By next week."


Since my non-accepted resignation, everyone here, including the year long supervisor, has gone out of their way to talk me into not leaving. They give me long lectures hypothesizing about the psychology of Queeg, they give me the St Crispin's Day "By quitting you're only letting her win" raise your battle axe high exhortations, and the desperate "please don't leave me alone with the rest of these nutsos" pleas. I have given up trying to explain that I am not leaving because of this one incident. I am leaving because I should have left a while ago, which is what that meeting made me realize. This job was never intended to be permanenet. It was intended to be a nice thing on my resume to get me another better paying job, you know, one that might actually get me health insurance. And although it is flattering to hear how highly others think of my work and how much my co workers want me to stay unfortunately neither of those things will cover my rent increase. Or get me published. Or make me happy.


And that last one is really the bottom line. I am perhaps an idealist having been raised as an only child in fairly isolated circumstances with a great deal of literature, but I think I need to find a path towards something that is not only more significant, but more satisfying to me personally.


This, honestly, is not what I wanted to write about on this blog. I've been trying to make the blog more about writing and less about "So this is what is going on here" but the encouragement that I've gotten from you all has been touching. But after this, back to writing about being Pantless in the Poconos and the further Adventures of Capt. Hot.


Speaking of Hot, he informed me that he is going back to Russia. I think this is a good idea as I am sick of his whining, although I will miss his little linguistic ticks. For example, he referred to a coffin as a "tuxedo made of trees" and then accused English of being a language for stones. Then of course he told me that Americans aren't really free because all we do is work. He actually said to me, "It's not your fault. It's the system. You aren't free. You aren't alive." Considering what I read about the Soviet Union at Ivan the Imbecile's blog, this evaluation is in stark contrast. I tend to agree with Hot's evaluation that many of us are not free here, especially now so terrified are we of bad credit ratings and the idea that one's work is considered the most important aspect of personal identity (and mate evaluation). Still to be told days after resigning that I'm not alive and not free is rather insulting. And then he told me he wouldn't miss me I when he goes back to Russia because he will be having too much fun. Yeah, well let's just see how quickly I replace him because there are LOTS OF MEN, honey, who roll their rrrrs. And I'm gonna find me one who is NOT from Russia and make him feel very lucky that he is not a Russian, and never will be.