Syllabus #242

I rejoined the land of the living this week.  I tested negative the morning I was allowed to return to work, which was a relief.  I wouldn't have felt good being in close proximity with people, even wearing a mask.  But I felt like that clean bill of health gave me permission to not wear a mask.  I hope I'm not a monster for that?  But the thought of having to deal with fogged up glasses and a swampy face and sore ears for 8 hours a day just made me wanna go back to bed.  Also, every time I put on an N95 I'm transported back to the time I had food poisoning and projectile vomited into a mask on a Portuguese tour bus.

uh-oh spaghetti-o

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This brief musing on what constitutes "American style" seems wildly optimistic to me.  If I were asked to describe American fashion, I think the thing that stands out the most is our willingness, nay, penchant, for going out in public in pajamas or exercise clothes.  I am guilty of the latter, but usually only because I actually plan to exercise after running an errand and don't want to get changed twice.  But leaving the house in pajamas would really be crossing the Rubicon for me.  I don't get that one.  And where do you draw the line?  Are they the pajamas you already slept in, or the ones you're going to sleep in?  Surely not both, right?  Like you didn't sleep in them, wear them out in public, and then get back in bed in the same dusty ass clothes, right?  If that's your journey, I guess you have larger problems to contend with than your sartorial choices, but like, if you're going to get changed at some point, why not before you leave the house?

Eagerly awaiting the new Sally Rooney book!  I normally wouldn't say, in March, that I'm already looking forward to September (as we all know July is the pinnacle of any teacher's calendar year) but I will be excited to read Intermezzo.

This is an interesting perspective on policing the use of language.

RIP Richard Lewis.  The origin story of his friendship with Larry David is just perfect.  

Analog Reading:

Finished the utterly brutal but all too realistic Prophet Song by Paul Lynch.  The slowly-then-all-at-once creep of a violent, authoritarian regime seems to be a regrettably plausible scenario.

Reading the also utterly brutal but entirely unrealistic End of Watch  by Stephen King.  It's the 3rd book in the Mr. Mercedes trilogy.  I have become quite fond of Bill Hodges and Holly and Jerome.  I am not fond of King's stubborn refusal to find ways to show that a character is racist without using the n-word.  Also, I wonder if he has ever met a Black person in real life.  In one scene, he sets up a description of a bad neighborhood by describing some young Black guys on a street corner selling drugs and playing hacky sack between drug deals.  If you, like me, thought hacky sack was one of the whitest things a person could do besides not use a washcloth*, you're not wrong.  I am ashamed to admit that I googled 'black people and hacky sack' just to see, and the first result was this comedy sketch about the world's only Black hacky sack player.

*for the record, I do use a washcloth, and was surprised and amused when I learned of this stereotype, but have since learned that it is surprisingly valid