Arthur and Buster Get Stood Up

(Muffy and Francine enter stage left. They walk to center stage, a high school hallway.)

Muffy: Finally, after all these years...

Francine: ...in Mr. Ragburp's 4th grade class...

Muffy: ...we're in our senior year of high school...

Francine: ...and it's time for the prom.

(Muffy and Francine exit stage left and then Arthur and Buster enter
stage right.)

Arthur: Hey, Buster, who do you think I should ask to the prom?

Buster: Do you need to ask that? You've had the hots for
Francine since the 4th grade!

Arthur: Yeah. But she doesn't like me. I think she likes the Brain. He's much smarter than me and wears better cologne.

Buster: Dude, don't put yourself down like that. You are much smarter than him. Well, maybe not smarter but you definitely wear better cologne. I've smelled it - essence of toad turds.

Arthur: Cut it out, Buster! Who are you asking to the prom? Prunella?

Buster: Oh sick! Arthur! I like... I like... um... um... I won't tell you.

Arthur: If you don't tell me I'm gonna tell Mr. Stiffshit that you skipped his class yesterday to play hooky.

Buster: Yikes! Ok ok I'll tell you! But it's embarrassing so don't laugh!

Arthur: It can't be that embarrassing unless it really is Prunella.

Buster: Oh shut up!

Arthur: Fine just tell me!

Buster: Ok, but don't tell anyone.

Arthur: Fine, now just tell me!

Buster: Alright here it goes. I like um um Mm-Mm- Muffy.

Arthur: Holy shit, Buster, you like Muffy?!

Buster: Shhhh... not so loud!

Arthur: Dude, I thought you liked Sue!

Buster: Why would you think that?

Arthur: Because you always hang around her.

Buster: Arthur, you sick puppy, Sue is my cousin!

Arthur: Ohhhh oops hee hee. Well, anyway I think we should ask them at lunch.

Buster: Them who?

Arthur: Muffy and Francine, you dip!

Buster: Ohh, ok, at lunch.

Arthur: Alright and then... Wait! There they are now! Let's go for it!

Buster: Alrighty, Arthur, after you, ladies first!

Arthur: Well at least I'm brave enough, Buster.

Buster: (charging forward, not to be outdone, runs into Muffy, knocks her down, landing on top of her, and blurts out) "Muffy, will you go to the prom with me?"

Muffy: Sorry, spazo, someone already asked me, someone who didn’t have to jump on me to ask. Now would you mind getting off me?

Buster: Yeah, sorry. (shoulders drooping, walks past Arthur and off stage right) Good luck, good buddy.

Arthur: (walks up to Francine) Francine, will you go to the prom with me?

Francine: Sorry, Arthur, someone already asked me.

Arthur: Awwww, man! You too? Who got to you first?

Francine: Ummm…the Brain.

Arthur: Man, I knew it!

Francine: Oh, and Arthur?

Arthur: Yeah, Francine?Francine: Your fly is down.

(Arthur runs crying off stage right.)

Francine: Whoa, that was close. We’re alone now.

Muffy: Why do we have to keep this a secret? I can't take it anymore!

Francine: Well me either! You don't think I'm not upset about us
having to plan our prom in the janitor's closet! Huh?!

Muffy: No, of course not! It's just that I hate the fact that we can't have a happy relationship because of a new president!

Francine: Yah! I know. I hate that Dick Chaney guy!

Muffy: Totally! He's such a prick!

Francine: Yah! Why is he sooo offended about two people of the same sex having a relationship?

Muffy: Yah! I mean what's the big deal?

Francine: If he knew we were going out he would make us break up.

Muffy: I wouldn't be able to live without you!

Francine: That's so sweet Muffy! I wouldn't be able to live without you either. You're the first person I think of when I wake up in the morning and the last person I think about before I go to sleep.

Muffy: I feel the same way. I think about you all day long.
When Buster asked me to the prom all I could think about was you. And how much of a giant bruise I’m going to have on my ass.

Francine: I felt the same way when Arthur asked me.

Muffy: I'm so lucky I found you! Now I what true happiness is.

Francine: I get all tingly just thinking about you.

Muffy: Well, babe. You give me goose bumps. (bring, bring, bring)

Francine: Well, that's the bell. Let’s go to lunch, honey.

(Muffy and Francine exit stage left.)

(All characters return to stage: Buster and Arthur from stage right holding hands and Muffy and Francine from stage left holding hands.)

All: But don’t worry, we all lived happily every after. We all found our true loves. (Muffy and Francine kiss and Buster and Arthur kiss.)

THE END

Muffy and Francine's Dialogue without Saying I Love You

Muffy: Why do we have to keep this a secret? I can't take it anymore!

Francine: Well me either! You don't think I'm not upset about us having to plan our prom in the janitor's closet! Huh?!

Muffy: No, of course not! It's just that I hate the fact that we can'thave a happy relationship because of a new president!

Francine: Yah! I know. I hate that Dick Chaney guy!

Muffy: Totally! He's such a prick!

Francine: Yah! Why is he sooo offended about two people of the same sex having a relationship?

Muffy: Yah! I mean what's the big deal?

Francine: If he knew we were going out he would make us break up.

Muffy: I wouldn't be able to live without you!

Francine: That's so sweet Muffy! I wouldn't be able to live without you either. You're the first person I think of when I wake up in themorning and the last person I think about before I go to sleep.

Muffy: I feel the same way. I think about you all day long.When Buster asked me to the prom all I could think about was you.

Francine: I felt the same way when Arthur asked me.

Muffy: I'm so lucky I found you! Now I what true happiness is.

Francine: I get all tingly just thinking about you.

Muffy: Well, babe. you give me gose bumps. (bring,bring,bring)

Francine: Well, that's the bell. I'll see you at lunch, honey.

Muffy: Bye, sweety! (Muffy & Francine blow kisses)

Playwrighting exercise due August 5th

Exercise: Write a dialogue in which the characters express love (or hate) for each other, but don’t say the word “I love you,” don’t ever talk about their feelings for each other.

Play Assignment

One Act

The drama should be complete, not a fragment of a longer piece. It should run about 4 pages or 15 minutes.

Because you are writing only a short work, you must limit yourself.

• All the action should take place entirely in one scene.
• There should be no more than four characters (excluding very minor characters with dialogue under three lines).
• Everything must be able to be performed onstage within a reasonable budget. Bill Gates is not your patron.

Remember that all past must somehow be brought into the present—mostly through dialogue, but other means are possible.

Be aware of stage directions. Give us what we need to know to produce the drama, but not more than necessary. Don’t go overboard and try to direct the play from the writer’s chair.

Consider the freedom of drama to comment on its theatricality. Feel free to break the fourth wall if you want.

Don’t neglect sound, special effects (if needed) and silence.

Lastly, remember that you are writing for the stage, NOT film or tv. It has to take place on a stage.

Your drama is due Tuesday, August 12th.

Rodney the Robot By Sammi Goldfeld (when I was ten)

Once upon a time there was a robot named Rodney Copperbottom. Rodney was seven feet and six inches tall with a square head and rectangular body and limbs. He was shiny and silver except for his blue eyes and blue hair. His blue hair, which was made of iron, stood straight in the air in a crew cut style. He liked to drink motor oil and eat screws. When Rodney was a teenager, he stopped a world time diamond thief, and became a hero. He became so popular that he ran for President against George Bush and won. So Rodney is now President of the United States in the human world. He misses the robot world where his mom and dad live. The robot world is where all the robots live.
Sometimes he dreams that his mom and dad are in danger. In a recurring dream he sees a headline in the newspaper: “MR. AND MRS. COPPERBOTTOM GET KIDNAPPED AND DIE.” The story continues on to say that they died because their son Rodney was not there to help them. He was too busy with his own work to even go to the funeral. After he finishes reading the article, he wakes up scared stiff. He worries continuously that the nightmare will come true and something terrible will happen to his parents.
One day, Rodney was listening to the news and heard something about a robot, so he turned up the volume. It was about his mom. “Mrs. Anne Copperbottom was kidnapped at twelve o’clock midnight,” said news reporter Johnny Apple. “When husband, Mr. Philip Copperbottom, found out at three o’clock in the morning that his wife was gone, he got dressed, then without a second to lose, ran after her to try to save her. The kidnappers took Mrs. Copperbottom to Detroit. Police are on their way there now to investigate.” Then Rodney turned off the TV and went to his house, which was the scene of the kidnapping.
At his house, it was dark and gloomy. Rodney stood there thinking. Then he made up his mind. He was going to fly to Detroit the next morning. When he got to Detroit, he immediately saw a huge building right in front of him. He saw some people pushing two robots inside the building. They were Rodney’s parents. He waited until they were inside the building, then climbed to the roof, opened a glass panel, and slipped inside the building down a rope with a hook at the end.
After he was in, Rodney looked for his mom and dad. He found them asleep in a cage. Rodney yelled, “Mom! Dad! Wake up!” His mom and dad woke up and said “Rodney!” at the same time. “Are you all right?” his mom asked. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. “You have to get out of here!” whispered his dad. “No,” declared Rodney firmly, “I’m not leaving without you.” “Then what are you doing here?” asked his dad. “I’m going to free you,” said Rodney decidedly. “Look out, “exclaimed his mom, “they are coming!” “Who is coming?” asked Rodney. “The bad guys! Hide quickly!” “But…” stammered Rodney. “Go! GO GO!” ordered his mom.
The bad guys took Rodney’s mom and dad to a big piece of dynamite and tied them to it. “That should do it,” said one of the bad guys. The bad guy was fat and looked liked he hadn’t shaved or showered in years. He was lighting the fuse. “Two minutes until destruction,” said a computerized voice. “Let’s go to a restaurant,” said the other bad guy, who was skinny, bald, wore ripped jail clothes, and stunk like a dung beetle. With that, they promptly left.
After they left, Rodney came out of his hiding place quietly and went straight to his parents. He started to untie them from the dynamite. “One minute until destruction.” After his mom and dad were untied, Rodney started running outside with them but got his leg stuck in the rope and couldn’t get free. “One second until destruction.” Then the dynamite blew up with Rodney attached to it. BOOM! Then the smoke cleared. There was Rodney, in a million pieces on the ground.
“He risked his life for ours,” whimpered Rodney’s mom, her lip quivering. Then she burst into tears of oil. “I know, honey, I know,” comforted Rodney’s dad. “He didn’t even know that the bad guys took us because they wanted all Rodney’s money,” wept his mom. “Those dirty, greedy rats!” she yelled forcefully. “He didn’t even know!” With that, the grief stricken parents walked out of the building and away to hide in their house away from everybody forever.
Then Rodney woke up and exclaimed, “That’s it! No more pizza before bedtime!” At breakfast, Rodney thought, “I guess I won’t be having any more nightmares. I am glad to know that I would risk my life for my parents if they were really in danger.”
THE END

The Story of Esau and Jacob By Sammi (when I was six)

Rebecca who married Isaac had two twins. The first one who came out was red and had lots of hair. They called the first boy Esau, which means “lots of hair.” The second boy came out holding on to Esau’s heel. They called him Jacob, which means “heel.” The first boy that came out would be the new leader of the Jewish people. Jacob was jealous of Esau coming out first.
They grew up. Jacob liked to help his mother in the kitchen. His mother was proud of him. She said he was her favorite son. Esau liked to be outside and hunt.
One day after hunting, Esau came home and said, “Jacob, please give me some of that delicious soup.” Jacob said, “Okay, but first you will have to pay me. I will give you some soup, but only if you give me your birthright.” Esau gave him his birthright and ate the lentil soup.
Isaac said that Esau was his favorite son. One day his father could not see. He was afraid that he was going to die, so he told Esau, “Go get me some meat and tell your mother to cook it the way I like and I will give you a special blessing.”
Jacob’s mother said, “Dress like Esau and put Esau’s furs around your arms. Go get me a lamb, and I will cook it for your father how he likes it.” Then Jacob brought his father the meat. Jacob said, “Eat the meat and give me my blessing.” Isaac said to Jacob, “Let me smell you. You smell like Esau, but you don’t sound like him. Give me the meat, Esau.” Isaac ate the meat and gave Esau’s blessing to Jacob.
A few minutes later the real Esau came with the meat. Esau said, “Eat this meat and give me my blessing.” Isaac said, “Who is this?” “It is I, your son, Esau,” Esau said. Isaac said, “Then who just came to me and gave me meat?” “Jacob tricked you,” Esau said. Isaac ate the meat, and Esau said, “After my father dies, I will kill Jacob.” Isaac gave Esau another blessing. “This is a good blessing, my son,” Isaac said. “Jacob was stealing from me,” Esau said. “First he stole my birthright. Then he stole my blessing.”
Jacob became the leader of the Jewish tribe. But it turned out that after his father died, he did not kill Jacob. He thought that was not right to do.


It feels sad to be chosen by only one parent. Both children should be favorites. Parents should treat them both like they are favorites. The child not chosen would feel mad at the parent and jealous of the sibling.

No show

Hi guys

I can't make it this week. I've got a presentation to do and a TAB meeting (Teen Advisory Bord) see you next week.
P.S. I might bring cupcakes!

For July 22nd

Put two characters of your story in a situation in which they must say less or other than they mean. Reveal the protagonist's true feelings through thoughts, and the other character's true feelings through gesture, expression or other external signs.

Remember that point of view in such a scenario must either be 1st person or third person limited. You are not allowed to go into the head of the second person. The added challenge here is that dialogue of both characters will mean something more, less or other than what they say. This exercise will get you to focus on elements of character and plot that are not direct recountings of what is happening.

From the Wood to the Desert and Back Again, Comically

A wandering bear in the 100 acre wood
wanted to find a job if he could.

So buy a ticket to a plane
did the bear who’s been through
sleet, snow and rain.

Oh me oh my this ticket he buys is going to AZ.
A place with weather the bear had never
experienced you see.

The weather was hot, so very hot, it was summer in AZ.
So hot was the bear
that he shaved off his hair
and went looking for jobs in the mall.

Alas the bear could not find a job
until he saw a store with a mob.
Hot Topic it was called.

So into Hot Topic the bear went
and was very surprised to find that his good friend
Piglet had already gotten the job.

So sad the bear who had no hair
had to go home without a job.
But he didn’t have to buy ticket you see.

Because the girl in the store
did not like his galore
of casual clothes you see.

So up went her leg and her combat boot
kicked him right in the putoot
all the way back to the 100 acre wood.

Now in the skies above the 100 acre wood,
then plummeting down into the wood.
Glad he was that he landed in grass
and not landing in AZ
or a cactus would be up his a**.

So sad Pooh Bear was.

Angels and Wizards (for 7/15 class)

A forgotten wizard in the forest. Why is he forgotten, you ask?
Well….. The wizard put the angels in denial because the angels asked him To make peace among magical creatures and human beings
But the lazy wizard did not. He forgot.
Then out of the wood came the muscular Cyclops
And ate all of the government in one bite.
Oh it was a sight!
But it was not all sad
Because some of the government was bad.
Adios, Dick Chaney! Au revoir, George Bush!
And that was the end of them in a whoosh.
That was how the wizard came to rest in the forest alone and insane.
Oh and those angels never trusted a wizard again.

Comments

Nice to see some postings up there. Also, don't forget that you can comment on postings as well. Just click the "comment" link at the bottom of any entry. I'll generally try to comment on any posting that goes up, unless I want to discuss it when we meet.

Superman Becomes a Defense Attorney

Superman Becomes a Defense Attorney


I don’t like my new job
Neither do my clients.
I plead one to life
What he did:
He stole an old ladies purse.
I look bad carrying a briefcase
I’d prefer a bad guy
Carrying him by his collar.
I also can’t stand helping bad people
Especially if I know they’re guilty.
Some prosecutor slipped me some kryptonite
So he won and my client
Only got 22 years.
He stole a car and
Took it to Mexico.
He deserved kryptonite himself
In my opinion.



By Carter Kunke

Oops!

I didn't realize my computer was still logged in as Sammi. Sorry about that, but the assignments still work.

I forgot to hand back the memoirs yesterday, so I'll get those to you next week. Good luck with the poems, and for those of you who missed this week, grab a parent of friend and have them help you pick out words for you poem.

Assignment for July 15th

Poetry, like all literature, makes the reader see something new. But as poets, we sometimes need help in seeing things new ourselves. This exercise forces you to find new ways of thinking.

Have someone other than you leaf through books of poetry and write down ten words that are powerful, evocative. Put the words into a hat and draw out six of them. Write a poem with those six words.

Poetry 2

In class assignment

This exercise is designed to help you think about condensing meaning. Poems mean more than they say. Ambiguity and paradox are engines of meaning. Compression allows a poem to speak far more than spelling everything out. Remember, there's an infinite number of points, even between 1 and 2.

Start with a common story, one that you’ve seen, the plot of a movie, a Harry Potter book, any comic book or cartoon.

Write a short paragraph.

Now condense that short paragraph into a haiku, a short poem of three lines—5 syllables, 7 syllables, and then 5 syllables.

Next, re-write that as a cinquain: a five line poem with lines of 2 syllables, 4 syllables, 6 syllables, 8 syllables and then a last line of 2 syllables.

Haiku 5,7, 5
Cinquains 2,4,6,8,2

This is the assignment for last week

Ethan Hunt in an orphanage

I received a message in the usual form, sunglasses that told me they'd blow themselves up. Then I received the message, “Ethan your mission is to replace an injured caretaker in an orphanage in London.”. I couldn't help but notice they didn't add “should you choose to accept it”.

When I got there a caretaker said to go take care of the toddlers

and boy was I in for it, the little brats tugged on my nose and ears till I finally pulled a gun and it turns out they don't appreciate that kind of behavior. So I got put in timeout. Me of all people, and I wasn't allowed to come out till I was sorry. They were pulling on my ears for god's sake, what was I supposed to do. That got me a longer time out.

So I got out of time out and Luther warns me over my comlink,“You'd better be careful Ethan, they're about to put you on diaper duty.” Seconds later a caretaker approached me and told me of my fate. When I got into the room it smelled like the worst things you can imagine all mixed together, in fact I nearly reeled from the smell, but Then I actually had to change a diaper and I passed out to the noise of Luther yelling, “Ethan's down!”, into my comlink.

When I woke up I was in our truck away from the orphanage and I saw on the little TV, “Agent Disavowed,”. I had lost my job with the IMF and here I am without a job, trained to do nothing but infiltrate buildings, steal software, get information and kill.

This is my poem

He is the butcher, and his soul is his knife, he fights on with endurance, despite his great strife.

The enemies come, creeping in through the night, only to meet uncommon resistance, the butcher and his knife.

He is a warrior, pressing on through the night, He is the butcher, his soul is his knife.

Tim Russert, Unemployed in the Afterlife, Finds Heaven

It's nothing like the representations earthside.
No clouds, no glittering showers of gold sunbeams.
Rather, it's very functional, as one might expect
processing so many souls.
We queue up on smooth concrete, stained a pleasing green.
The walls, also concrete, are smooth and cool.
They tower a bit much, but alternately suggest
confident authority. A well-run bureaucracy.
It reminds me of Switzerland.
At my window--a nice granite counter--
the woman regrets that there's little call for
relentless interrogation.
"Deception, equivocation, prevarication...
these rhetorics are without force, I'm afraid.
Truth is the norm."
She suggests oral histories, many stories to be documented.
I leave with a Marantz PDM 670 recorder.

Poetry--Character

Kong Looks Back on His Tryout with the Bears
William Trowbridge

If it had worked out, I’d be on a train to Green Bay,
not crawling up this building with the Air Corps
on my ass. And if it weren’t for love, I’d drop
this shrieking little bimbo sixty stories
and let them teach me to mambo and do imitations.
They tried me on the offensive line, told me
to take out the right cornerback for Nagurski.
Eager to please, I wadded up the whole secondary,
then stomped the line, then the bench and locker room,
then the east end of town, to the river.
But they were not pleased: they said I had to
learn my position, become a team player.
The great father Bear himself said that,
so I tried hard to know the right numbers
and how the arrows slanted toward the little o’s.
But the o’s and the wet grass and grunts
drowned out the count, and the tight little cheers
drew my arrow straight into the stands,
and the wives tasted like flowers and raw fish.
So I was put on waivers right after camp
and here I am, panty-sniffer, about to die a clown,
who once opened a hole you could drive Nebraska through.



Homework
After reading Trowbridge’s “Kong” write a poem in the voice of a fictional character. Place the character in an unexpected line of work and have him or her (or it) discuss the job.

Week 2

“Jazz, Fried Okra Afternoon”
by Devan Cook

Fried okra, hot coffee, bacon grease melting in black iron skillet from the drippings can on the stove, jazz on the radio, mid-afternoon, sun behind the little live oak with the three trunks that shades the trailer, windows open, dirty screens, two horses outside asleep beside the viburnum hedge, 85 degrees, breeze from the woods, okra from the woods garden. Flowers like cotton, like sticky fuzz. Okra comes from Africa. Cut the pods every day. Slice young and tender into rounds, 1/4 inch wide, roll in meal and egg and meal again. Salt and pepper, red pepper too. Fry in hot bacon grease and stand back: it spits. Eat with green beans, green onions, bacon, corn bread with lots of butter, coffee: strong, hot, black.
Black iron skillet. Jazz on the radio. Shoes off, air thickening in the kitchen, dark, heat from cooking lingers around the stove. Wash dishes. Windows face west: watermelon red sunset lights the stove, then faces, then the last green line before it’s over. Sun sinks into the woods—vines cover it. Sun buries in old leaves. The trailer cracks and settles, letting the heat go, rise. Dogs wander off toward the woods. Swallows above the barn and garden, then sounds of the first whippoorwills and a hoot owl in the woods where a breeze rises. Birds. Children catch fireflies. We sit on the steps and listen.
Breezes rise. Open doors and windows, breath, blow through the whole hot place, bacon smells, coffee, okra, corn meal, jelly smeared on the bedspread covering the couch, blow into the bedrooms in back. Cooler now. Stained curtains puff. Heat lightning, clouds stack toward the west, the Gulf, over the woods. Baths, clean white cotton pajamas folded flat under white cotton pillowcases, sheets stretched taut over still warm beds, spreads folded down to air bedding. Smell of sun, light, grass, bleach. Children eat cookies and drink kool-aid. Dark is think and sweet, muscadines ripen behind the barn, woods move toward the road. Lights on in the house above the pasture. Dust settles on road, leaves. Another hoot owl answers the first, fireflies hover, doors close, lights out. Lightning closer now, leaves scratch screens, breeze over beds. Dogs under the trailer. Rain’s coming.

∑ List the foods different members of your family like. Choose one and have the person eat that food.

∑ Write about eating in relation to times of day—morning, noon, night, late night, while traveling, while doing something else.

∑ In the above selection, Cook joins two ideas: jazz and food. Do the same with food and something else. Maybe a different style of music, or sports, or relatives…whatever you like.


For next week:

Long Assignment: 750 words
Choose one and write about it. If you can, please type it up. If you want, submit it to the website.

∑ Write the "story" about yourself that you tell strangers.

∑ Holidays are often landmines. Family gatherings can trigger some pretty interesting old memories and their accompanying tensions. Write about such a memory/tension, but try to find the humor in it.

∑ Talk to your grandparents. Ask them what it was like at the dinnertable when they were 10 or 15. Write a descriptive narrative in which you "recall" a dinner at your grandparent's table.

∑ A young friend of mine carries with her the blue collar worn by her dog who was put to sleep. She tells me she would be devastated if she lost it, but yet she carries it with her. Do you have something like the dog collar that you carry with you? Write a short narration/description about the item and its significance.

∑ Write a scene of a very early, vivid memory. What are the odd details? What in this scene seems to matter to you? What are you leaving out? If you get stuck, keep repeating the phrase “I remember” to start off your sentences.

∑ How many firsts can you remember in your life? The first meal you remember enjoying. The first book you read. The first music you bought. The first time you rode a bike. Pick one and write about it.



Bring a small box of things that mean something to you. As many as you want. They should be somewhat small, so we aren’t overcrowded. If you have something large, see if you can bring a piece of it, something that can stand for it. For example, instead of bringing the whole guitar, just bring a guitar pick.

Reading the Scene

Pick a place that you regularly visit. A place in your house, a park, somewhere in the neighborhood, the car restaurant. Go there and deliberately see it for the first time. What do you notice that, because of familiarity and routine, you ceased to notice. Become aware of the scene as much as possible. Look in odd corners, make the peripheral central. Take lots of notes. Record conversations. Observe the familiar in a writerly way.

Welcome

Howdy!

This is our blog. Right now, it's not much of a blog because there hasn't been much of class. Mostly just me emailing one or two parents. Them emailing me. Us writing about you. Yes, we've been talking about you. Extensively. You should probably be a little paranoid. But only a little.

We'll use this medium to help keep the mojo working while we are apart for the better part of the week. And for some of you who think it is perfectly cool to skip class--well now that I think of it, you all have pretty much skipped class your whole lives you miscreants, but you haven't skipped any of my classes, and that's a whole different ball of twine--however, some of you may need to donate a kidney and miss an odd Tuesday. This blog will help keep you afresh of the magic.

I'll make this blog somewhat private. One of the first things we'll do on Tuesday is to give everyone proper access to the site. Then, only those of you in the course can access what's written here. It'll be our little hideaway.

I'll see you all (or most of you) next week. If you end up poking around here, or your legal guardian fails to tell you about the first day, here's what you should bring:

A totally awesome pen. Something that will inspire millions with its words.
A blank notebook or journal. A repository for greatness.
A favorite book, poem, article, bit of graffiti, tattoo or encyclopedia.
A well-rested mind--preferably one that hasn't seen a tv in 48 hours.

Let's start writing.