Sweet jesus how i hate classic western literature. i swear… the next book i have to read by a dead white man is gonna get burnt in flaming effigy when i’m thru with it. Between the general ignorance (in all senses of the word) of many works that aren’t as traditional or widely translated and the nearly total exclusion of female authors, i have never enjoyed pre-20th century european lit and probably never will. So, of course, what’s my first class M-W-F? 10am, Masterworks of Western Lit! Aside from the infinitely boring reading (averaging to almost a dreadful book each week, which i don’t really mind), my teacher seems to be quite batty. Two quality comments she made on Monday are as follows:


Bat-Woman – I may not be a math professor, but i can do my share of calculations. You know, i had to tutor all of my children in that sort of thing when they were in school. I was always especially good at fractions and percentiles. My son never understood those. They really pushed those fractions in grade school back then. Do you all know fractions?

Bat Woman – You had “issues” scheduling the class? Young people have such an interesting way of using the word “issues” nowadays. I don’t think it’s supposed to mean “intangibly unidentifiable problem that i can’t quantify but is certainly very present.” I could be wrong, though…

She actually doesn’t come off as especially old or patronizing – instead it’s more like quaint and whimsical. She actually managed to hold my attention the whole class, even while i was searching my backpack for something i could use to light my copy of the sorrows of young werther on fire with. Someone said he felt the book (a collection of semi-fictional letters from a “indolent and insufferably well-read” young man who’s obsessed with a remarkable young lady) read a lot like a personal webpage and i managed to LOL heartily before cringing when i realized how right he was. Dear god, please tell me i’m more interesting of a sap than young Werther. … ugh.