The story is due tomorrow. Seven pages of fictional goodness. I've got two and a half pages of crap. We're counting on a miracle, folks.
So, um, the humongous painting of Harry Waterfield is crooked. I've never wanted to straighten up a wall-hanging this much in my life. And I've never been so scared to do so. If that thing fell off the wall, it would not only kill me and the painting itself, but also about four computers and a student or two. Wouldn't that be lovely?
Speaking of lovely. No class today. That's right. Shakespeare festival is going on. But here's a question. What happened to the Shenandoah Shakespeare people? Is it the same people with a different title? This years it's the Black Friars Stage Company or something like that. Anyway, I'm seeing Richard III today. I think I'd rather see Much Ado About Nothing, which is tomorrow, but I can't. Oh, well.
Would somebody please tell me that all this talk about midterm is a joke?