Chris is a lot like my friend Scott in that he’s pretty adept at creating lurid scenarios with me as the main character, like he did at the beginning of his Project Runway recap. He has me recovering from my end of the semester in a Tijuana skin bar, whatever that is.
If my life was only so interesting. In reality, I’ve been drowning in papers, trying to wrap things up for that one class I so want to put behind me, and then I have finals for the classes at the urban college. On Thursday, I had to turn in grades for the college out in the mountainous desert area, and I had to turn in other documentation, such as the grade ledger and attendance. I learned my lesson for the future – be more organized with that stuff.
I still have stuff to grade for the other classes – term papers for the critical thinking class and a final for the grammar class. I am having an informal wrap for the critical thinking class, which should be fun. They were difficult as a group in the beginning, but I’ve developed a good relationship with them, especially after Felicia was out of the class.
On Thursday night, I had to give the basic composition class their in-class essay final. The department at the urban college gives a writing prompt related to two assigned readings. I must go over the readings in at least three class sessions to prepare them. Several of my students took part in discussing the readings. Others ditched or left early when we were going over the readings and the topic, and I have a feeling that it will show. Yesterday, I took part in a department wide gradathon in which people who teach this course, plus some, went into grading triage. We could grade everyone’s but our own. It took a few hours, but it got done. I don’t think I can look at them right now.
A few hours later, there was a department party at one of the professor’s house. Lots of good food and some wine, which I really needed. I drank enough to unwind. I also had a few conversations with instructors and professors about the semester overall. Tomorrow night is the party for the English department at the east county college.
Changing the subject, I’m at the point where I need a haircut. It’s simply a matter of calling the salon and setting up an appointment with the guy who cuts my hair. He does great work and I always feel great after he’s done. I’ve let the craziness of my life manifest itself in my hair. If I let my grow long, it gets very wavy and out of control. Strangely enough, this comes from my mother side of the family (which is Okinawan), and I get this trait from my grandmother (which skips generations).
I could get some clippers and buzz all of my hair off, but I’m not a buzz kind of guy. I always like to have some hair, even if I’ve never cared for wavy/curly hair. When I was four years old, my father tried to give me a haircut and wound up shearing me bald. I wore a cap for a month, even wearing it to bed, and I never forgot it. I’ve done buzzes from time to time, but I’ve never stuck with it. It’s only been good for if I got bored with my hair or if I needed a cure from a bleachjob (which happened only once).
With this guy who does my hair, I don’t need to fear a bad haircut. I’ve had my share of bad haircuts since childhood (starting with my dad) and barbers and others who just could not cut my hair. The worst were people who think you can’t mess up on curly hair. I’d know the difference, so I hear someone talk like this, it’s time to move on.
Gotta get a haircut soon.
