11 people all wake up and sigh. They trundle through the day with a definite feeling of dread, as though they had a root canal scheduled after work. They each live completely seperate lives, but have a very significant commonality, a commonality that is slowly but surely destroying their souls: they each have the same prof for the same three hour class every Monday.
As they walk into the class, they greet each other with silent eye contact that demonstrates that that are companions in arms. They will somehow see each other through this violently frustrating and deeply unsatisfying lecture that they were hoping would enlighten them and bring them new questions, but which only leaves them haggard and wanting to drink heavily.
He walks in, a likeable man who cannot be respected for his mind in a situation where people have paid dearly for someone whose mind they can respect. One of the 11 people absently wonders if perhaps there had only been 12 in the class, perhaps He would have been a better teacher. Maybe 12 followers is the magic number to make a person great and it was this that made Jesus a wise man rather than any innate qualities on his part.
A plan starts to hatch in the student's mind. An evil plan. One of world domination and line-ups of people waiting to pleasure her. If only 12 people could be rounded up, she starts to think of people whose phone numbers she has memorized...oh who shall be the lucky 12?

I got to teach a my first university class today and you wouldn't believe how excited I was/am about it. It was so much fun and I got to lecture on some of my favourite topics and it totally reaffirmed why I'm doing this frikkin' MA in the first place. I want to teach so badly I can taste it, it's sad that so many who hate teaching and only like the research portion of university are out there teaching when I would so dearly love to take their places but cannot. However, once the PhD starts, then I'll get to teach classes - it makes me think I should start it sooner rather than later, but I do have to get these abominable student loans paid off first. I can't handle the thought of 30-50 grand student loans, so I have to pay my "small" one off first.

And the prof for the class who was monitoring me said I did a super-duper job and that I even handled the one tense moment in the class with the aplomb of a pro (some chick decided to bring up how dumb hyper christians are and you could see there were quite a few christians in the class so I had to diffuse the situation). I'm sorry folks, curbing my enthusiasm for this experience just ain't gonna happen. I was gonna try and write some "the girl walks into the class and, for the first time in a university setting, heads to the front to take the podium for the entire hour" story kind of crap but I'm just too excited. It's so ...life affirming to know that what you think you've wanted to do but what no one has let you do until now is really what you want to do. It's so funny as I know that I've taught many a class before, but this was the first one where I got to teach critical theory and literature and it just blew me away.
Okay, I'll stop now. Otherwise I'm just gonna go on for pages about how cool this was and hey, I think you all get the point by now.
Woo Hoo!

His shirt, which so nicely twisted and tightened around his muscular frame, is now on the floor. The "take me for a ride big boy" uttered with such false bravado had done the trick nicely.

While I offer curves, he offers ridges and defined lines. I run my fingers playfully, almost giddily, bouncing across the smooth bumps of his abdomen. The skin is tanned and responds visibly to every touch. He laughs at his own arousal as I bite at his nipple. Taking his pants off is great fun. I nuzzle his dark cock, licking it and surprising myself at my own lusty grabs for his Cool-Water-ad ass. Can it be possible to judge something as "scumptious" only by one's hands? If not, will have to go in for a taste, purely to ensure my linguistic correctness of course. As he roles me onto the bed and beneath him, I watch the side of his back expand and move against me, almost like poetry.

Sometimes someone can be so good looking as to make up for mediocrity in the sack.

I'm a talented wonder.
Nov 27th at the Horowitz theatre, the belly shakes! Tickets available through ticketmaster or by giving me cash ($15) to get tickets.
Nov 12th from 12-1pm, hear my new radio show (it's the first one so it kinda sucks, but I'm still proud). You can listen through CJSR.
And coming up: I'm doing tech for an amateur theatre troup in early December.
My school work is suffering drastically, but hey, that's okay.
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Little observation.
He sits on one of two chairs across from a booth. She sits in the booth, but not in front of him. They both face empty space. He expects her to slide over, she expects him to switch chairs. He silently looks at the menu thinking how easy it would be for her to just slide her ass over. He'd have to get up and walk around the chairs. She silently smirks over her menu thinking "He's so my bitch." Her turns to her and asks what she's going to get. Neither of them move.

Okay folks let's link it up today. First of all, check out how totally hot Miss K.Lo (of former blog fame) is. And if you could see the rack on that girl...

And also, the man who brought us MAUS and In the Shadow of No Towers, Art Spiegleman, has also brought you Lil Lit. Now I suppose the other two books are way deeper than the third, but I like to see intelligent people doing lit for kids. I also like to see people mixing formats and it's surprising that although fairy tales have been one of the most maleable forms of literature, no one has really done a comic book collection of them before (except probably the French cuz they make everything into a comic book, they're cool that way). And the art is from serial artists all over the world.

The state of North America is looking dire. I realize everyone is sick and fucking tired of hearing about the elections, and that it hasn't technically been decided yet, but I just can't help it. The most dangerous moron walking the earth has now been elected by popular vote (it seems all those extra voters that came out were not youth voting for Kerry, as was thought, but hard-core Christians voting against gay marriage) and now has carte blanche to do whatever the fuck he wants for the next four years cuz he doesn't have to worry about being liked or being re-elected.

And Canada's oh-so-intelligent PM (who I really am not so fond of, he's questioning the 3 things this country does that I am most proud of: opposing Bush, legalizing weed, and legalizing gay marriage) wants to cozy up to Bush for economic reasons. I know it's deadly for Canadian economy to not be friends with the US, but doing something you know is wrong for money is...well wrong. But I guess that what comes from electing a finance minister as PM. May I say though that Chretien improved Canada's economy dramatically and was still in the firm "Bush is a Moron" camp. It's not that simply, I know, but it's just a thought.

And can I say, I dislike extremists of any kind whether on the left or right of the political/religious spectrum, but I'm getting a little bored with the fact that it's always the ones on the right who win in our part of the world. Can't we mix it up a little?

From the cafe:

The girl at my new hangout has obviously either just broken up with someone or has just fallen in love. She keeps playing the Wallflowers over and over again. I remember when I got to work along at the Travel Bug in Van and I was still all giddy over Pickle and would play Dave Mathews, Everything but the Girl, and Supreme Beings of Leisure over and over whilst gazing stupidly at nothing and forcing customers to wake me from my reverie with their mundane requests. It makes me smile nostalgically and wonder how many brain cells are left in your head to do actual thinking when you first fall in love with someone. They all seem to be used up in giggles and cuddles and fuzzy weirdness.

Looking at the girl, I think she's in love rather than in mourning. She keeps cutely waking out of a daze and smiling. Heh. Maybe she's just fantasizing about me naked.

So I look over a few more times. She _is_ looking at me kinda funny. We _are_ alone in the place. So I give her what I hope is a cute frustrated look with regards to the paper I'm working on. She giggles. Hmm.

I invite her to have a seat and we chat a bit and she's decidedly ditzy, but in a nice way. She's got some hair on her face to I brush it away and suddenly I'm biting her lower lip and she's letting out small sounds and her eyes are closed tilted upwards. I kiss her and move down her cheek and to her neck and she gets aggressive and sits me on the table and hey, look at that, my top is off and she's got her tongue slowly circling my left nipple. Her hand is softly touching my right breast and intermittantly pinching my nipple. I can feel myself getting wet as hell and I'm thinkin' "I gotta wear my Predator t-shirt more often."