Well—I dun it. One semester
down, one to go. Whether or not I actually passed my class is a separate issue.
(I’ll go out on an egotistical and cliché limb here and think I did—well, if a
D is passing . . . silly Information Technology classes.) I had some good
classes this semester. So I really hated the paper for Visual Rhetoric, but
surprise, surprise, I didn’t do well on it. Anyway, I prefer the lectures to
the analytical confusion. Apply it? What? Okay, so that’s a lie. I do like the analytical stuff. Sometimes.
Visual rhetoric was an fantabulous
class. It helps liking the Professor—she’s one cool cat, to say the least—however,
I wouldn’t change having chose it if I could. I even enjoyed the final—is that
sick or what?
And Creative
Non-Fiction—that’s a class I’d take again. Also an excellent professor. (With a
sweet puppy; or full grown dog named Maisy who barks along to the U of M fight
song “Hail to the Victors.” And barks aggressively at the mention of the
Buckeyes. Only in Michigan.) It’s such a lovely thing to be able to write
without the constraints of convention: fragment, long sentence, use active
voice, just not right . . . To be able to write without those comments and be
told that they are an absolutely fine thing, yes, that is so nice. I was called
“the Queen of Fragments.” I accidently snorted. It was a compliment, though.
Developmental Psychology,
also superb. So much to learn! (Some sex statistics to shock your stockings ,
too; if you want ‘em, I’ve got ‘em.) And yet another wonderful professor.
We’re lucky here at Calvin.
I’ve been über lucky on top of it all. Professors who wear hats they don’t have
to, who listen, who teach with passion for the subject and the students, who go
to tea/coffee or lunch, who are gifts. Yep. Spoiled.
