the twit


    a recipe for bees

    a recipe for bees:

    Kill a young bull, and bury it in an upright position so that its horns protrude from the ground. After a month, a swarm of bees will fly out of the corpse.

    a recipe for the best sleep in your life:

    Stay up until 5 in the morning arguing with brilliant people about the inadequacies of the program you belong to, and (a) the indirect value of its inadequacies - namely, good arguments with brilliant people (b) the feasibility/worth of creating a satisfactory/sufficient/flexible program within the same basic model. After a day of attending mildly relevant classes for that program, the best sleep in your life will overcome you.


    15 hours of bliss and I'm still tired. Highway 7 was cheap and lifeless - littered with sooty, wasted puffs from cotton season - and a beam of sunlight pounded my solar plexus. I drifted in and out of sleep as Jake and I listened to taped lectures by/panel discussions with B.F. Skinner.


    you are your own special (brown) snowflake

    this was my calculus class's conclusion after today's morning announcements (our principal likes to take about 5 minutes each day talking over the PA about how special we all are and how wonderful it is to be at school today - things which are nevertheless partially true). i had written "you are your own special snowflake" on the board, and - upon a student's apt observation that none of them were white - carrotted in the word "brown," much to our collective laughter and approval.

    in other news, i'm failing a lot of kids - many of whom never having received lower than a B before.

    also - i'm settling in to some sort of akward rhythm. my horizon of survival has moved beyond "tomorrow," and into a sense of "this week" as a breathable interval. next - i imagine - will be "the next couple of weeks," and somewhere along the line i'll have a sense of "the term," and "the year."


    he's my uncle

    lord i'm tired of that post.