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Bigfoot sighted in suburban Cape Town!
Sunday, 1 February 2009 08:28 amHello, February, who the hell let you in? I haven't come to terms with January yet. Bother.
Interesting Moments In Student Interaction yesterday: speaking to a room full of 400 parents, all waiting anxiously to be reassured that the faculty is going to look after their Darling Offspring. (Which we do, actually). In the lower middle section of the lecture theatre, i.e. just in front of me, there were no less than twelve parents, both male and female, wearing shirts in an absolutely identical, distinctive and distressing shade of pale lime green. I'd wurble on about synchronicity and cosmic wossnames etc, except what this is actually about is fashion, particularly the extremely limited colour palate which is considered de rigeur for a season. Last year was lime green and orange, which means you couldn't find a bottle green or burgundy t-shirt for love nor money. And they wonder why I wear black. Pshaw.
One of the parents came up to me after my talk and informed me that her son had enjoyed my curriculum talks during orientation last week: quote, "She's so cool!" This follows hot on the heels of the email from the student desperately wanting to talk to me and no-one else about her curriculum, because I helped her last year and, quote, "You're my people!" Given that I am still fighting stress, rushing around, twelve-hour days, a sore knee and a completely spontaneous outbreak of toothache, these little moments of validation do help. (Apologies to jo&stv for running madly away early from their extremely pleasant housewarming party last night. My People Quotient, already stressed by two solid weeks of orientation, including weekends, was overflowing.)
In the Department of Bring Me Robotic Limbs, Stat, the new symptoms include swollen ankles, as a result of insufficient movement. My feet are fat, bloated and bulgey, not to mention extremely unattractive. I am forced to flog my toes into resuming the spontaneous wriggling behaviours which give them a complex private life of their own, which have evidently been somewhat on hold since the injury: apparently it'll get the blood flowing. Local acquaintances are to feel free to apostrophise my feet in forceful terms should they detect any slacking off.
Interesting Moments In Student Interaction yesterday: speaking to a room full of 400 parents, all waiting anxiously to be reassured that the faculty is going to look after their Darling Offspring. (Which we do, actually). In the lower middle section of the lecture theatre, i.e. just in front of me, there were no less than twelve parents, both male and female, wearing shirts in an absolutely identical, distinctive and distressing shade of pale lime green. I'd wurble on about synchronicity and cosmic wossnames etc, except what this is actually about is fashion, particularly the extremely limited colour palate which is considered de rigeur for a season. Last year was lime green and orange, which means you couldn't find a bottle green or burgundy t-shirt for love nor money. And they wonder why I wear black. Pshaw.
One of the parents came up to me after my talk and informed me that her son had enjoyed my curriculum talks during orientation last week: quote, "She's so cool!" This follows hot on the heels of the email from the student desperately wanting to talk to me and no-one else about her curriculum, because I helped her last year and, quote, "You're my people!" Given that I am still fighting stress, rushing around, twelve-hour days, a sore knee and a completely spontaneous outbreak of toothache, these little moments of validation do help. (Apologies to jo&stv for running madly away early from their extremely pleasant housewarming party last night. My People Quotient, already stressed by two solid weeks of orientation, including weekends, was overflowing.)
In the Department of Bring Me Robotic Limbs, Stat, the new symptoms include swollen ankles, as a result of insufficient movement. My feet are fat, bloated and bulgey, not to mention extremely unattractive. I am forced to flog my toes into resuming the spontaneous wriggling behaviours which give them a complex private life of their own, which have evidently been somewhat on hold since the injury: apparently it'll get the blood flowing. Local acquaintances are to feel free to apostrophise my feet in forceful terms should they detect any slacking off.
