What good am I amid these

Today in English 2001, we watched Kill Bill vol. 1 as a way to discuss literary analysis…this is going to be a good semester ๐Ÿ™‚

I love every single one of my profs. Since when does that happen? Between the 5 of them, there can be no solid winner; each really is that extraordinary.

My creative writing prof is the same one as last semester. He says things that sound like they came from Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, and he sounds like Dustin Hoffman. He explained that college is a place that fills your head with concepts and then doesn’t give you enough time to elaborate on them. Of course he put it much more poetically than that.

My English 202 prof makes us sit in a semicircle, “Yes, like you did in kindergarten,” she told us. She then went on to explain how Romanticism writers like Blake and Wadsworth can be linked to today’s hipster culture.

English 201 prof explained that there is only one original manuscript of Beowulf, and rambled for about five minutes on the physical attributes of that manuscript. Then he apologized for whenever we reach into our memory for something dire, like our blood type or what to do when on fire, and all that we retrieve is “the physical attributes of the Beowulf manuscript.” Then he mentally prepared us for the body dismembering scene of Kill Bill. “If you feel the need to run screaming from the room, I’d understand.” Cool guy ๐Ÿ™‚

French professor is just exceedingly sweet. I don’t think he’s ever gotten mad at anyone, ever.

Lastly is H.P. Jones. I would write a book on H.P. if I could. He is 85, very short, and in better shape that I am. He spent four years in the marines, and when he got out traveled across all of, well, the opposite side of the world. If you go into his office, there is little to no room to sit. Its like something out of Harry Potter. Stuffed Boar’s heads hanging on the wall, draped in crowns and beads. Chinese lanterns and voodoo dolls hang from the ceiling, while military maps curtain the windows. Pillars of books literally reach the ceiling. On his door (adorned with comics and coloring pages) is a sign that reads “ABSOLUTELY NO CLEANING.”
In class he refers to Vikings and “mojos” and Jerusalem as “the big j.” When he draws the path of a ship across the ocean on the board, he hums the charge theme.

Its going to be a good semester ๐Ÿ™‚

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