Keep Him Blind To All Else...

      It was enough to make Seagram's 83 shoot through my nose: Rosita, RK's teaching assistant for his poetry course to which I gave a guest lecture at the beginning of the month, pointed me to these blog entries from one of her students, a young man named Raymond that I should evidently hire as a publicity agent. Frankly, I don't know what to say.   Does this mean I get to cavort a bit with Liv Tyler?   Crap, I knew you were going to say that....

The Endeles Knot: Blast From The Past

      Warning: this will probably prove a dreadful bore, except for the person that requested this, so proceed at the risk of your duldrums. Herewith, scans of an absolutely antediluvian essay on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, replete with (gasp!) illustrations and Lord-only-knows how many embarrassing errors.

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The Pentangle Full Formed

      I've been promising for what now seems an aeon to reproduce this essay for RB, a piece I wrote sometime when I was ostensibly young. It was an undergrad paper (96?) that eventuall provided the material for my first lecture in 1997. Pardon the pencil marks which, if memory serves, are from editing these blasted notes for turning them into that lecture. I don't know if this is worth anyone's time-- I doubt it was worth mine when I wrote it-- but, well, there it is, as promised. Talk about elementary narratology, even if makes an argument I've never yet seen made about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Blast from the rotten, musty, mildew-covered past.

That Strapping Blue Lad

      I've been meaning to post this for a while now, a poem I'd surely never allow to be taught in any poetry class. Inclines me to remember why some people deserve very nasty punishment.     Click the image to see the larger version.

      Dare I note the date on this poem, published in my (gasp!) last year of high school? Oh, age is a rotten, fetid bitch, isn't she?

      Omnia, for the record, was my old high-school newspaper, of which I was editor for around 3 years. The authors of said poem, I guess it hardly needs saying, were waiting with bated breath for this, even then-seeming, "old dog" to bugger the hell off. That was over 13, closer to 14, years ago. Arf, arf.  

So Much For Exit Polling

      All I have to say about this: if this is even remotely close to true, I want my groupies and I want 'em now....   

      70%?!?! No Way, Hose A.

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      UPDATE (11/17/04): Thanks to someone either being too kind or taking an ironic kind of pity on me-- I'm hardly sure which-- I'm now 72.7% hot, which has to be about 71.7% too high.   Not that I'm complaining, of course.   I would never complain about that....    I have to note, though, that my easiness factor has improved a bit.   I wonder what people mean by "easiness." If it's something other than being a tough/easy grader, I want to assure everyone of one thing: I am not easy; I'm just remarkably affordable.  

A Strange Fact

      It has occurred to me that today marks a very odd anniversary, one upon which I won't much elaborate, save to say that I've now been "this" Doctor J for moreorless six years now; or, rather, that this Doctor J came into creation six years ago today. This Doctor J is the darker, more cynical (among other things) version of a former self now almost completely banished except for odd circumstances when that unwanted self dares to think he can crawl back within this now otherwise-occupied territory. Foolish thing. He doesn't understand that the same reasons I'd like to let him back in are the same reasons I can't. Go figure. The blasted world of paradoxes.