I did my second stint as a guest speaker in a journalism class this morning, and I am once again reminded that there is no greater privilege than shaping young minds.
Wait, what? Geez, I’m sorry. Sometimes when I haven’t had enough coffee, a large LOAD OF CRAP falls out of my mouth (fingers). It sounded nice, though, didn’t it?
Oh, I love college students. LOVE THEM! I do. Except for how they’re so young and I feel like a senior citizen when I’m around them. And how they come to a 9:00 lecture and take a nap in the back of the auditorium.
Yes, I saw you. And you, too. I know it’s Monday, but there’s this awesome thing I encourage you all to check out—it’s called SLEEPING. In your BED, at NIGHTTIME. Try it, you might like it!
Here’s the thing about these sorts of appearances, for me: I always feel a little bit like they’ve got the wrong person. I mean, I get introduced as a professional and an expert and I’m always sort of standing there thinking, “Wait, what was I supposed to be talking about? I wonder if my hair got all puffy on the walk over here. Is my fly zipped?” It just seems like I should FEEL more professional than I actually do.
Furthermore, I sort of feel like Methuselah, standing there talking about blogging as “new media” to kids who can text entire novels over their cell phones before I can even remember how to turn mine on.
Oh well. Most of them pretended to pay attention, and a few of them asked intelligent questions, and no one burst into flame or snored loudly, so we’re going to call it good. At the very least, we are going to call it OVER, and now there are only fifty-nine pressing public appearances I have to make this week, left. (Oh, fine. THREE. But it FEELS like more.)
A small part of me very much wants to come to one of these things in my pajamas. You know, just to be all truthy and what not. And also because I am five.
[Digression, except not really: Otto helped me make some slides last night, and he made a title slide for me that says “Mir Kamin: Blogger For Hire” and I told him I was going to need a fedora, a trench coat, and some fishnets to go with it. He did not find this nearly as amusing as I did. Because I found it VERY AMUSING.]
[Also: Dear Georgia, ENOUGH WITH THE HUMIDITY, have you not HEARD of the DROUGHT? Back it up, bitch. Love, Mir’s Hair.]
I meant to include this on my last post, but I guess I saw something shiny and got distracted, but it all worked out because Hey! I don’t have anything else to say about this morning, so I’ll put it here.
Earlier this week we were driving home from somewhere with the kids, and as we drove down the main drag we passed a building claiming to be the “Happy Spa” where the descriptor “ramshackle” would be generous and the windows are all soaped to block a view from the outside in.
Me: Is the Happy Spa still open?
Otto: I think so, why?
Me: Because it just looks… you know… like the sort of place that isn’t a spa, but is a “SPA.” Where you go to get “HAPPY.”
Otto: Well, yeah, I’m sure it is.
Chickadee: What do you mean, Mama? What do you mean, not a spa but a “SPA?”
Chickadee: Tell me!
Me: Ummmmm… well… there are places that use being a spa as a front for something else.
Chickadee: Like what?
Me: *at this point I was looking to Otto for help, and he was staring straight ahead at the road, a determined “you got yourself into this and I am not involved” look on his face* Uhhhhhh, well, OTHER things. Things that men like, mostly, that maybe they shouldn’t be paying people for. Special massages, and stuff.
Chickadee: I don’t get it.
Me: That’s okay.
Monkey: I KNOW WHAT THEY DO THERE!
He was so triumphant in his exclamation, we all turned to look at him. He had a sly little smile and you know, nothing gets past this kid, so I didn’t doubt that he might have figured it out.
Me: Really? You do?
Monkey: Yes! I do!
Chickadee: TELL ME!
Monkey: Can I tell her?
Me: Uhh, sure, go ahead.
Monkey: They do things like put hair gel IN-BETWEEN THEIR TOES!
Yes. That’s what they’re doing at the Happy Spa. Putting hair gel between their toes like the PERVERTS THEY ARE.