I thought I might do an overview of my classes and teachers here at NYU, since I have nothing else to do because of this snow day thing. SO.

1) Literary Criticism.
I think I'm going to really like this class. Because of some weird glitch in the NYU system, our class has six people while the other Literary Criticism class held at the same time next door has over 20. So we have a general education class that is strangely intimate and... well, small. Although that does mean that we all have to talk more. And I'm always super nervous I'll say something stupid and the rest of the class will regard me as "the dumb one." Is that irrational? Maybe. Or maybe it's rational.

Anyway, the teacher's pretty cool. He seems young, though it's hard to tell when he has that Indie Hipster beard going. Well, maybe it's not a beard. It's sort of in the mid-stage between scruffle and beard. Buffle. Sceard. But he's super sweet and already knows our names. If I could find someone like him my age to be my hipster indie beareded best friend, I would probably be the happiest person ever.

2) British Literature I:
Ahh. The class where we learn about Beowulf. Yay.

Actually it's not that bad. I learned a lot of background about the text that I didn't know before (and that, incidentally, made the whole mess a lot cooler), like that it was actually an historical poem written several centuries after the events had taken place. And that for a long time nobody liked it because they thought it was a "fairy story" and not actually of any historical significance until J. R. R. Tolkien wrote a paper on it. And then everyone was like "Hey this is actually cool hooray!" Or whatever people said back in the first half of the 20th century.

So here's a little paragraph I wrote on the first day of classes about my Brit Lit teacher. I wrote it to keep myself awake in the sweltering hot of the classroom. Here it is:

"Never has a daintier man taught British Literature, and I suspect that's something to be said, considering the field. Although outwards he appears an average New Yorker (young, Jewish, homosexual) with a long sleeved shirt under a short sleeved shirt in two different shades of black. But his speaking is so precise, his posture so correct, that he seems as rigid and breakable as a glass miniature. There is not a sloppy move in this man's repertoire. Although I'd be afraid to even brush against him for fear he may break, I'd like to have a tea party with him and my teddy bear some day."

More soon! Oh, and I finally actually turned 20 on Monday. Let the decade begin!