The first day.

Yesterday was the first first day, but today was the first day I met students. It was everything such days are meant to be (I feel bullets. I feel bullets real hard.):

• early rise-y
• extra complicate-y
• not enough nutrition-y
• super tired feet-y

I know you feel me.

However, I did not see this coming: a student told me that he could not read--could not!--the contemporary poetry anthology I had selected as one of the texts for a course I am teaching. It's because he is only interested in the great poets, and these (picture a derisive, dismissive gesture) contemporary poets would contradict, nay, pollute his poetic progress! 

I will pause, so that you may reflect.

(He was nice when he said it, but still.) 

I know, I know. I don't need to worry about this. Moving on: one of the complicate-y things about this day was that I had to hightail it out of my last class lickety split to drive to Wasatch County for a little conference of art house film exhibitors. As I mentioned to my eldest daughter in an international text message, 

Obviously, when the opportunity to go to this conference arose, and I recognized that it was happening on the first day of classes, I should have sent my regrets. However, I did not. Instead, I figured out how I would (a) pack my overnight goods, and (b) get up far too early, and (c) make sure I had every needful thing in my school bag, and (d) hightail it lickety &c., all to make two sessions and a keynote. 

However, in my own and in my over-committed schedule's defense, the keynote was Leonard Maltin, who was in fine raconteur form and earned a standing ovation from the grateful crowd. I learned that art house cinemas are all facing the same issues, but they're a hardworking and courageous bunch, and I'm kind of proud to be playing my tiny little part in helping them along.

And now I will watch a little television until I am unconscious. That is all.