flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
Ugh, I’m ashamed of myself.
Oh well, here’s a Valentine featuring my very alluring cat. Feel free to print it out and give it to anyone you want to. I am definitely not responsible for how they feel about it, unless they’re super into it and immediately make/adopt a baby with you, in which case I demand that you name said child Trebuchet.
Don’t ask why I’m reminded of this, but one of the weirder moments of my extremely short teaching career popped into my head earlier and I have no filter, so here goes. I was teaching Intro to Theatre at a community college, and I had a lesson planned around colorblind vs. color conscious casting and the history of blackface and yellowface in theatre. One thing led to another, and for some reason I found myself attempting to briefly summarize the plot of D. H. Hwang’s ‘M. Butterfly’, which you probably know SPOILER involves an Asian man masquerading as a woman in a long term sexual relationship with a
dickhead French diplomat. He succeeds in part because of assumptions Europeans have about Asians being delicate, feminine, inscrutable, and so on, and it’s a fascinating show. Unfortunately, we got completely derailed because no one in class could imagine how they could have sex without Gallimand knowing Song was a man. It brought us to a grinding halt while I tried to explain delicately that Song acted too shy to take off his clothes, and they continued to basically be like, “But there’s no cooch!”
Which is how I found myself exclaiming, “There are other orifices, guys!”
No one was familiar with the word orifice.
Anyway, that’s how the delicate issue of race turned into me reminding people that anal sex is a thing, and then trying to move on till class ended. Also I found out a week later that there were two high school students in my class. Did y’all know sometimes high school kids take college classes? Don’t you think they should warn a bitch there are minors in the room?
Happy Valentine’s Day!