That cold day in January, I had a boner the size of New Hampshire.
I was just waking up,… What? You don’t know about these?
That’s it. That’ll be the extent of the boner references in this blog entry.
Maybe.
I’m back in grad school in January.
Let’s skip past the Christmas holiday. It was good. It was a shit ton better than the year before that.
Again, I’m taking two classes and an Independent Study class. The seminars are four credit hours, and the Independent Studies are one. (I’m gonna have to come up with a shorter term for “Independent Study to shorten it up. Jesus typing Independent Study one more time would drive me up a fucking Vaseline-slicked wall with Sentinels attached to them – forgive me,… I watched “The Matrix” last night,… Anyway the point is, “Independent Study” sucks, so, for this weblog episode we’ll call it the “chubby.”) So, nine credits. (See how these fucking things get so long?)
“US History Since 1945” is the first class. Subject matter seems fairly standard, yes? Okay, how about this: the notion of “American Exceptionalism,” urban de-centralization and suburbanization, the growth of consumerism, the rise of the new left and the new right,… and their intersections and similar fractionalization of, The Vietnam conflict, and finally (and a theme throughout) the overarching trend toward conservatism in the late 1970s and 1980s How standard does that feel? Add in that you have to read a book each week (A BOOK EACH WEEK) highlighting one or more of these topics. Oh,… and as a little bonus for you, you get to go and try and sound intelligent in front of eight other great minds. Plus you get the professor. A published author who graduated from one of the top-ten history programs in the country and was mentored by another published author. We briefly talked about the syllabus and the readings for the semester
“Southern History Since 1865” is the second class
Did I mention that I signed up for two classes on the same day. One class (the “first class” in case any of you are drunk when you’re reading this) I thought it would be cool being able to only have to drive to Tampa one time a week,… and the traffic wouldn’t be bad. Just what was I gonna do with only 40 minutes between classes. Can’t really go anywhere.
Anyway,… the point is “Southern History Since 1865 is the second class,
(Quick aside,… I just had a thirty-second struggle closing a cigarette box at 5:40 in the morning. I finally just gave up, and threw it on the arm of the futon,… and it shut by itself,… fucking paper.)
Southern History is taught by a Yale graduate. When I walked in,… okay,… I peed my pants just a little. But then I remember that this a mixed format class: five grad students, ten undergrads. I’m not necessarily getting behind this. And these fucks are even younger than me (I know, grammar nazi, its “younger than I.” We’ve talked about this before. Enough about the grammar!) But, the professor was smart and hip,… (really, that combination, John?,… Why yes,… and I’d use it for myself!) But then, toward the end of class, he did something very innovative – he used an episode of “Family Guy” to characterize the caricature of Southern culture pervasive in US society today.
The reading wasn’t as quite as heavy as the other class (although, it was way heavier than the undergrads’),… but the writing! I nearly shit myself when I realized I had to write a paper of 6500-8000 words by the end of the semester. The normal length of the paper would have been much shorter, but the professor was facilitating my "chubby," so there was extra work involved (I'm really glad I chose that word to replace "Independent Study" now). But the truth is that I really enjoyed writing that paper. And I did well, as far as the grade went. But the consistent encouragement I got from this professor was really superb.
And then there were the undergraduates trying to discuss graduate school level material. I won’t say anything bad about them,… I could,… but I won’t.
But during this second semester of grad school, I also developed personal relationships with some of the other students. People who had been in one of my two classes from the Fall term now recognized me. That first term was a lot of casual, see-you-as-you-go-by kind of talk. But this time, I actually spoke to them as a fellow student,… a cohort,… a peer. And, in more than a couple of instances, I actually made friendships.
And that was cool. It felt like I was doing the right thing,… for fucking once. (It’s been a long time since I hit the big one. Gotta be since that whole getting married thing.)
And my boner had never been more tremendous.
Okay, I lied,… there were more boner references in this chapter.
Remember,… every time a boner goes unused, a little baby cries,…. That’s why they cry so fucking much. I hear babies crying, and I all I can think about is all those boners going to waste. Stupid crying babies!
Until next time,… piss off.
Next Time: Pupar.
