Le singe est sur la branche

While working on a Power Point Presentation for one of my classes, I got a little distracted. Don't tell anyone, but my middle name is Procrastination.

While we're on the topic of PPP's, as they are known in the more erudite circles, I have to say they do nothing for me. I can recall sitting in an undergraduate class watching slide after slide of whistling and beeping material wishing that I had a hearing aide with a dead battery. It wasn't the case, of course. Somehow, my education has not been enhanced by the introduction of fancy slides. One day, though, all students will be unable to learn unless the material comes directly from a computer. It is true -- I learned it in teacher school this week. Me and my graphic black board fantasies are doomed.

Yet, I digress. The real issue is the video that I found that prompted this post. My friends, I give you:

Eddie Izzard Speaks French

And yes, I am the President of Burundi.

I Hear You

There are just some days when I want all of my time for me. ME. I don't have any charitable feelings available for anyone, no desire to do any sort of mindless work for my classes, nothing. All I have, on days such as this, is the willingness to give in to the call of my own muse. She comes on the wind, ringing the chimes and blasting day old blossoms from the bushes. Most days, I fight her off. Shoo her away with my 'I'll do it laters' and wine drinking and reading of other people's books. I piddle hours away in my garden, artfully clipping vines Mr. Miyagi style and stalking ants. I spend too much time online, giving away travel advice or looking up dirty Latin phrases that keep me giggling for hours. Nerd that I am.

Catullus Poems 30-45

Martial Book III .69-76

Today, though, I am in the hidey-hole. Writing up a tornado. Making myself ignore the million other things that natter in my ear, whip at my back, grind away at the peace that comes from sitting and making. Oh no, I won't clean out the closet today. I refuse to feel badly about that one wall that needs some touch-up paint. I am ignoring the bags of potting soil that are creating an eye sore and likely a safe haven for the dump truck sized mouse that has taken up residence in the back yard. Today, fingers of distraction, you are being left to pester someone else.

This is for my own good.

After staring at my computer screen for what seems like 100 million years, I've noticed it helps to make a sound like this: BLEGGGGHHHHARRGHHHGRRR.

At least, that is the sound that I am making quite often these days, since I started my online classes. Anyone who tells you that it is so much more convenient to take a class online than to spend the time in an actual classroom has absolutely no idea what they are talking about. Sure, it eliminates having to listen to the insipid comments of intellectually inferior classmates, saves me the trouble of hypnotically observing their bizarre simian fidget behavior throughout class and I won't have notebooks filled with the number of times the lecturer says certain words, like 'um' or 'gee' or 'amputation.' Ok, yes, I can sit at my computer in my underwear if I feel like it. I can post my required three comments on the discussion board drunk -- Word will catch all of my spelling and grammatical mistakes. I can click through posts that are meaningless or misspelled or clearly written by Gulag inmates sharing only a stick and one finger between them, with no obvious understanding of the English language. I know. Really. And yes, I did willingly sign up for this exercise in irritation. I even paid money to be in these classes.

Gadzooks. It has become clear to me that the intelligent life forms who are out there are not in any of my classes. I'm getting another beer.