Some days it’s harder than others to orient my brain around serial commas and people who struggle with English.
Not that I don’t appreciate both of these things… okay, not that I don’t appreciate the latter.
Some days are just meant for holding forth on important subjects, and for writing stories about people who don’t exist anywhere other than in my head.
Today is one of those days. But today is a day when I shouldn’t do that.
I’ll just do it a little bit.
Homme de Sept-Iles seems sad. There is no next game, he says. I beg to differ. According to Wikipedia, the Montreal Canadiens have been around since 1909. They taught me how to cheer. They inspired a brilliant book which I think I could recite by heart. They made a poet, who claims to dislike hockey, write an entire website about them. The cat always comes back, Homme, just like the song says. Trust me.
I have a student – Grade 11 – who is frustrating me. I thought I understood where he wanted to go. I don’t. They put him in Applied Grade 10 English because they said he’d exceeded the ESL courses but couldn’t handle the Academic classes. He’s bored. He’s more than able to handle the Academic classes. He doesn’t like to read fiction, though. I gave him Night, but he says he isn’t interested in the culture or the religion (isn’t that like not being interested in breathing?) and is struggling to finish it. He has some respect for Edgar Allan Poe, but didn’t really get off on The Masque of the Red Death. He doesn’t like Shakespeare. I want to know why he wants to study English, then.
I want to know why he has to study English, then.
Must go be responsible now. Send chocolate.