My writing class...

...sure doesn't teach me a whole lot about writing, but here's why I like that class. Or, like the teacher, also known as Michael Lahey or the guy who sings U2 songs, in class, while pretending to shoot himself up with heroin, and still gets bad teacher ratings- one of the mysteries of life, in my mind.

ML: "Have you heard about this Great Canadian thing? It's very uncanadian, Catrin. I apologize. Anyways, I'm going to make up a paragraph condemning Pierre Trudeau. Watch me."

Then, he writes on the board:

Trudeau, the brilliant hobbyist, the philosopher who did not need a job, lived not in Leduc or in Cape Breton, not even in Toronto, Vancouver, Ottawa or Montreal , but in one remote and self-satisfied place: his own mind - the product of poetry, European philosophy and expensive menus of cruise ship dinners - a mind that knew which abstractions could become bold social and legal policies to shape a country more open, realistic and consistent than any other in his century.


Hm. What happened? I'm not sure. I think he got carried away(that being the teacher who got mad at me for politicizing his class room).

Quote of the day: "I'm going to Jerusalem, so I'm going to have to learn some Muslim."
(overheard on the bus)