wrinkle removal secret cows transgender

…are those not the BEST search terms in the history of Google?

The news in brief:

  • Boy students complained today that my literature assignment for the quarter “has nothing in it for us,” i.e. males. After I stopped laughing, I said, “Welcome to the girls’ world. Try to remember how it feels.”
  • Little do they know, I’m planning a poetry unit for spring. Both boys and girls will dig it. Oh, how I love you, Judy Grahn and Eileen Myles. I love you so much, it makes my eyes cry all by themselves.
  • Also, I love this cartoon by Hyperbole and a Half.
  • Yesterday, in class, I compared Chinese foot-binding to silicone breast implants, but no one agreed. “Ladies PAY for that,” they said. I wanted to go all Judith Butler on them, but then I felt really tired so I just went on to the Cultural Revolution and Mao.
  • Eileen Myles! My girlfriend says I can sleep with you if we ever, you know, end up at the same party. It would totally be cool.
  • There are only 14 full-time Women’s Studies Ph.D. programs in the U.S., so I don’t know how successful my apps will be. But I’m going ahead with them anyway.
  • The zit on the bridge of my nose is so big, it’s distorting my vision.
  • EILEEEEEEN!

Two Things I Said In Class Today That May Result In Parental Phone Calls

  • “Butch up, Sally!” (to a football player whining about a 1-page creative writing assignment).
  • “What’s Purgatory? It’s God’s waiting room, like the Department of Motor Vehicles. Not heaven, not hell. You just have to wait there, bored, ’til they call your number.”

It’s like doing theatre: I have to get their attention, which is fully absorbed by iPhones and Blackberries; status updates and tweets; Jersey Shore and thumb-summoned pornography.* They’re too young to know how much trouble they’re in if they don’t finish high school, so part of my job is to know it for them. To require them to do things that make no sense to them; that they truly believe are useless. I am a modern-day scholastic Cassandra, whose curse is to speak the truth and be thought insane.

In semi-unrelated news:

  • I asked the GSA kids to count how many times they heard “That’s so gay,” “You homo,” “He’s such a fag,” etc., in the halls from last Monday to this. The number? 178. And that’s because a bunch of them forgot to keep a tally.
  • I’ve fallen in love with ‘Friday Night Lights.” At first, I thought  it was a dude’s show — the women seemed to have nothing but supporting roles — but I was wrong.  More on this later, even though I’m a way-late adopter.
  • I’m trying to write about a traumatic relationship, but doing so has a re-traumatizing effect. I’m a Vietnam vet and she’s a helicopter. Any suggestions from my fellow writers?
*There must be some kind of Sphynx cat/mainstream porn crossover; I don’t know, but the number of searchers finding me via “hairless p*ssy”…well, it’s disturbing. Few stay long enough to grok the irony; then again, few could identify “irony” if it crawled out of their navels and said howdy.