Well I haven't yet started believing in God again, but apparently enough of you do on my behalf. I managed to escape this meeting relatively unscathed. Part of it, however, was I had to re-affirm AGAIN that I will not be teaching after May. Do me a favor though-when May rolls around and I beginning getting the emails begging me and my vast experience to continue in my self-destruction remind me how miserable I've been dealing in November with accusations from August. But part of it is, and we all know this, don't mess with the jackalope my friends-you'll get the horns.


In my class discussion today (on gun control), my students brought up gun ownership and women. So we began talking about how women might own guns to balance out theoretical physical "weakness" women possess. My class spun this out into an entire fantasy in which my abductors would return me unscathed as long as I promised not to correct their grammar anymore. At the end of the kidnapping, I would hand the kidnappers a grade and comments, "I like your content, but you need to focus on comma splices and subject verb agreement."


Every once in a while, they make me laugh. And for all my complaining, at the end of the year, it's always hard on me to leave them. Many of them don't even think about me once they are no longer in my class. Lots of them believe I don't really care, but would I be this angry if that were true?


Of course as Stephen King once wrote "Sometimes they come back" and one of my former students, who has fashioned himself as a voluntary personal assistant to myself, has started a blog. It's about sports, of which I arguable know absolutely nothing, but from what I know of him, if you're into baseball, it's well written. Or at least, it better be or I'll clobber him with his copy of Angels and Demons next time I see him. Reading Dan Brown in my office three days a week. Of course, he's sitting right here reading over my shoulder. As he does every thursday. Ok I wouldn't clobber him per se so much as give him a gentle tap upside the head. He does bring me tea three times a week, and I don't want it to be laced with Drano. Further, it seems a shame to go and finally clobber a student who managed to survive a whole year with me. Gotta keep him around just to disprove the rumors.

So tired. Somebody just send me a chocolate frosted martini. I promise next week a review of Chris Garetano's The Horror Business and as well as an analysis of Saw II. In the meantime, stop by Karol's discussion about whether couples can remain friends after a break-up. It reminded me, or perhaps my emotional state reminded me, of this Dorothy Parker poem.