The Mall

I have my first class tomorrow and I spent the better part of the day at the mall. Why does it matter? I'm teaching the class, not taking it and I should be at home, preparing, stressing, rethinking my career goals. And now I'm blogging. Jesus.

Anyway, what I should be doing is looking at that venerable classic "Saving Private Ryan", choosing a clip to show the students. The class is about war and its impact on art, music and theater. I'm doing the theater section. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: what the f**k does "Saving Private Ryan" have to do with theater? Close to nothing, except the themes are similar to the themes of the plays we'll be studying. And it's always nice to start with a visual. Actually, visuals is the hook that keeps the students in the class. I'd like to show them the very cool and gory storming of the beach at Normandy segment, but it's too long and it will fool them (that may not be so bad) into thinking that we're going to be dealing with combat issues, which is untrue.

The JoySpot -- the mall is always a comfy 72 degrees.

I don't like Sundays

I have never liked Sunday. As a kid, Sunday meant being dgagged off the church and even though we got candy afterwards, I still would have rather stayed home and watched Davey and Goliath (even though Davey was such a wimp).

Now it's the day when I have to think up something to do because I don't have any place to go or any particular thing I have to do. You think, "I better come up with something good because time's awastin' and soon it'll be Monday and I'll have to go to my job or do the laundry" or some other prescribed activity. I already went for a walk -- a forced march led by my friend Kathy, who likes to walk and smoke cigarettes at the same time. So we walked, she smoked and Kathy's partner Amy walked a ways behind since she didn't want to walk at all in the first place. Now Kathy's cleaning, Amy is learning her lines and I'm blogging. Which one of us is the most useless? I think we all know the answer to that question.

The JoySpot -- one happy, true thing -- your dog will never know you're a big jerk.

I'm not very nice

Here's a confession: I go to Weight Watchers meetings because I'm usually the thinnest one in the room. I still clap whenever someone gets a bookmark for losing five pounds or meets their goal and gets some Lucky Charms or whatever. But there's no denying that sitting in a room full of fat people makes you feel better.

The JoySpot -- one true happy thing -- for your convenience, the alphabet has already been alphabetized.

I hate myself

I cannot stand my first post. I wrote that after they passed out the free pie at the seminar I was blundering through. It sounds pie-induced, right? Or I'm-a-stay-at-home-mom-on-poppers-there's-a-white-sale-at-Pottery-Barn kind of stupid. Happy stupid. Or maybe that's desperate stupid. But nothing is going right today. I finished my seminar -- on pedagogy -- and realized that I don't know any of the things I'm supposed to know to teach college students. Or any students. Or goats. So I went home to my parents' house and cried. They gave me my medication and now my sullen future is a little farther away and that's enough for now.

So here's the JoySpot -- the one true happy stupid thing -- for today: Klonopin now comes in fruit flavors.

In the third-person

Fresh Off the Farm

Excuse me while I brush the hayseeds out of my hair. I'm new. This is an assignment for a faculty learning seminar and this is my first time blogging. Now that my cork is popped I've not lots to say except my name is Joy and it will probably still be tomorrow. Which is when I'll blog back. Bye y'all.