What a bleak morning that was! The second year technical writing class was more like a Grade Five class in detention. We were warned to "act professional" at all times and avoid things like "off-task chatting," repeatedly. Once, I'd be fine with, but it was six or seven times! We were encouraged only to be positive in our writings, because that's "professional" (what?) - and the whole thing felt like little kids being chastised. Everybody looked too young for me to deal with and the girls looked too made up for an 8:30 class. They probably live on campus and have time to waltz over at the last minute after a delirious hour of firing make-up guns at each other. The assignments won't challenge me per se, but it should be an odd experience.
The novel class looks more exciting! Matt, Andrea, Ally, Kerry, Caroline, and about sixteen other people I know are in it. Rebecca's in it. We're starting with Bel Canto and we have to keep a journal of assignments which will eventually be the beginning of a novel concept, maybe a first few pages.
I bought Donnie Darko and Blade Runner. I must examine why Frank the Dead Boy in a Bunnysuit scares the shit out of me every time I think about him.