as seen at See Jane Compute:
The rule: post the first sentence of the first post for each month. Here are the ones that appear at blogos.
January: Fish chowder and cheese biscuits.
February: Hear ye! Hear ye! Let it be known that February 14, 2007 will mark the observation of "Happy Woman Professor Day," a day inspired by a depressing google search string and comments on that search string (including my own overly cynical one).
March: I'll just add to Spencer's photosummary of our campus's proud tradition of Unofficial St. Patrick's Day by noting that my down-the-hall colleague L discovered a barely conscious student on the floor of the women's room, her hair splaying out from under a stall door.
April: My end-of-semester assignment for my first-year rhetoric course has students working all semester, tracking an issue in The New York Times so that they might comment, in the end, on the twists and turns in arguments about a particular issue, and so they can attend to kairos (rhetorical timing) in real time, as events unfold.
May: [title included here] That which does not kill you still might not make your grade stronger, especially wrt professor hawhee's perfect-spelling-of-proper-names (surprise!) bonus.
June: I most likely won't have time to post here very much between now and our textbook deadline next week, so I leave you with the song--and the character--that will be in my head til then.
July: "Meanwhile, the fabulously halcyon weather continues here. Conditions have been ideal for both working and basking." (Kenneth Burke to John Crowe Ransom, February 6, 1957)
August: getting up at 6 am and reading and writing until 9, up to, through, and past a major organizational breakthrough on the book's last chapter; running over to and alongside lake michigan before showering and catching the red line down to the most delicious thai restaurant for lunch; writing four more sentences on the front and back of a chopsticks wrapper; walking to a super cool--too cool in fact, but who tf cares?--salon to get a sharp haircut; and then catching the red line back up to an incredibly charming used bike shop recommended by a savvy local (ty, mp); falling head over wheels for, and buying, a classic brown schwinn victory with brand new tires and a meticulous new handlebar tape job; and then tooling all over the place, including back over to the lake and up and down and then over to the chicago diner for a plate full of spicy wheatballs and roasted root vegetables and a vegan peanut butter shake.
September: Those rare productive spells are enabled (for me at least) by periods of varying duration in which I do not write (oh, and obv. getting tf out of town helps too, apparently).
October: When people find out I'm not teaching this semester, they are also surprised to learn how busy I am.
November: During the normal course of trick-or-treating, a band of girls, age 13 or 14, rings the doorbell.
December: I don't really tend to compose those lists of 100 or whatever things about myself, but if I did, one of the items on it would be my childhood fascination with Evel Knievel.
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What a mixture: the worky and the not-worky, the mundane and the really mundane (phew that April one is a real snoozer), the sentences and the non-sentences.
