Wednesday, August 11, 2010

One student gave a proposal presentation yesterday that involved distributing a Whopper and speaking in front of a giant American flag. He advocated handing out MREs (meals ready to eat, standard military issue) instead of welfare payments that could be abused. Another student used pictures of the class, including me, from our visit to the SF Public Library, and placed thought bubbles coming out of our mouths with captions such as "Weed!" and "300! Go Spartans!" My caption had me referring to my students as my "sons." She also included a picture of herself in her power point presentation, and bullet points listing her traits including "worked in the video game industry" and "beautiful." It was one of the better presentations.

This 202 section has been great, very laid back and fun to be with. Even better, all of them noticeably improved as writers, or at least improved as far as writing the way I advocate. Thier papers and arguments came out: maybe Esperanto is the only second language anybody needs to learn. Maybe I will support Prop. 18. Maybe we should put a finger print reader on video game consoles. Maybe we should have a mandatory two year conscription policy. Maybe vocational programs in high school should be prioritized. Maybe we should promote morally responsible television programming. Maybe this experience off sets the terrible section I had over the spring semester. Maybe I'll put off grading papers and doing final grades.


It's difficult to say goodbye. The end of a class always makes me a little bit sad, and a because I'm holding back; a little bit awkward. This awkwardness leads to paranoia, and all of a sudden I'm interpreting the statement "the child's face is pure but in fact they are lying to their mother" and its accompanying visual argument to be about my secret life as a scuz bucket. Sad feelings mutating into strange, self-centered thoughts. The question is to embrace the sentimentality or avoid it. Either way, the end of class is an odd mix of relief and apologies. Maybe it's just difficult to accept the end of anything. And yet, I'm still here, regardless of whether I accept it or not. "It's always the same damn day." And I mean that in a good way.