Thursday Evening

This was for many semesters the end of my week; I had in front of me a blissful four-day stretch until the next occasion on which I had to walk into a classroom, four days in which I could read, write, and generally fulminate.

Fulminating takes time. Long, uninterrupted stretches of time.

Instead, I’ve got classes in the morning, then a much-too-quick two days, then classes in the morning again. I’m not complaining, mind you.

Okay, I am complaining, but not about the classes themselves — my students this semester (hi, students!) are fantabulous, and their discussions of the material have been (mostly) energetic and (always) thoughtful. What I’m complaining about is the frequency and the timing thereof.

Rather than finding myself alive with the thought of imminent fulmination, as I have been (or at least as my fuzzy nostalgic memory tells me I have been) for the last several years, I instead find myself exhausted, whiny, in need of many hours sleep, some inspiration, and a good whisky.

Hence, this post: whine, whine, whine, for I have nothing else of substance to provide.

(Except a program note: I’m headed to Louisiana for my step-grandmother’s eightieth birthday celebration. Since my parents have invested in the DSL, I may be able to post over the weekend, but if not, know that I’m there, enjoying a beer on the river, while listening to my beloved Tigers [sadly, still in double digits, according to the coaches’ poll (don’t even get me started on those yo-yos at the AP)] teach the Bulldogs a thing or two about how it’s done.)


  1. Oh, did I ever. We listened to most of the first half in the car, which was infuriating — radio relies so heavily on the announcers’ interpretations of events that you can’t get a real sense of what’s going on, and when what’s going on seems to be your team Playing Like Crap, it’s a bit hard to take. But we made it home for the last few minutes of the second quarter and so got to watch all of the crucial stuff for ourselves.

    The other thing that was interesting was that the local radio guys were much harder on LSU than were the CBS announcers; the radio announcers kept ranting on about the dominance of this Georgia team and LSU’s sloppiness (the latter certainly true, and the former at least arguable), but when we got home, CBS said precisely the reverse (a much more appealing narrative, and one that bore out through the second half).

    Anyhoo, I’m happy to report that the AP has a much improved sense of where we really rank in the scheme of things — and the coaches agree…

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