Writing on a blackboard is HARD.

I don't know about fancy science, but evidence suggests that writing on a blackboard dramatically decreases one's capacity for being any kind of smart. Spelling, simple math, grammar... it's all twenty times harder when it's done on a giant vertical surface in front of a gaggle of bored teenagers. Potato? Or potatoe? Alligator or aligator? ....Vicadin or Vicodin? (If you've seen House then you know where I got the inspiration for my haphazard conversation class about abusing pharmaceuticals.)

Also related to blackboards: DROPPING THE CHALK. Even before France, I think I already spent about 70% of my day picking up things that I dropped. Keys, cutlery, keys, my iPod, keys. And now I have to add chalk to the mix. The problem is that when the students are talking and good things are happening, I kind of start to toss the chalk up and down in my palm, you know, to encourage them to keep the momentum up, and for the love of god to KEEP TALKING because I have no idea how I'm going to fill the WHOLE HOUR... and then I inevitably give a little too much enthusiasm to my tossing, and the chalk goes flying and I have to go get it and my Teacher's Authority Rating dives to about zero.

I think I am going to stop writing on the blackboard altogether and start using that sneaky teacher trick that I learned in university: "That's a good question, Jimmy. Can anyone tell Jimmy how to spell Connecticut [please please please please]?"

Part Two of this blog is entirely unrelated to Part One, and so I will give it a new title:

"Why I Love Cheese Now (Alternative Title: Christina Was Right All Along - see comments on the last blog post)"

Before I start: let me just say that while yes, it's true, I've begun to actually LIKE cheese that isn't mozzerella or cheddar, I stand firm on my belief that some cheese is beyond even the remotest contemplation of consumption. Example: my roommate Nate has this wheel of cheese that smells like a Victorian sewer and clears the kitchen every time he unwraps it. Well... to be fair, it only clears ME from the kitchen. I run to my room and inhale a noseful of shampoo to get my balance back. If cheese violently assaults every available sense like that, it can't really be all that good for your insides, can it? I think I've figured out the essential problem, though. I like a nice, tender side of denial with all of my meals. I like my chicken to look nothing like a chicken, and my shrimp to taste nothing like seafood, and my cheese to smell nothing like what it is: curdled milk with a film of mould.

BUT!

I am now 25 years old. By some accounts, a capital-A Adult. So it's time that I put aside my old cheese prejudice and give some (SOME!) of it a try. And thus I found myself at a dinner party the featured cheese! Melted cheese! Delicious, gooey, hot, stinky CHEESE! And I liked it!! The meal was Raclette, the mood was merry, the conversation went far and wide.

What I learned about enjoying Raclette, a step-by-step guide:

1. Pet the dog.


2. Open the champagne.

3. Pet the dog again (she's a big dog, lots of surface area to cover)

4. Get some cheese!!!

5. You need a little oven that sits in the middle of the table. You get a tiny frying pan to put inside the little oven to melt the cheese of your choice, or fry an egg if that's your thing.

That little oven works really hard! Not only does it melt the cheese and cook the eggs, it also keeps the Mr. Potato Heads warm on top!

6. The eggs! I didn't actually manage to find out what kind they were, but I do know that the bird looks like the egg. A small bird? With brown speckles? And lots of deliciousness inside?

7. Pour the hot gooey cheese/egg all over the potatoes and moosh it all up together! Add some smoked meat! And some white wine!!

8. Add a GIANT PIECE OF CAKE! (because if there's one thing I learned when I turned 25, it's that desserts should always come in MASSIVE PORTIONS. Go big or go eat a vegetable.)

Oh boy I am getting hungry just by typing this....

btw, I fixed the problem that was preventing non-registered users from commenting on this blog. The last couple of posts have had mega comments (ha, MEGAN comments)!! That makes me feel all bright and sunny inside!

Aside: I just saw a fantastic student play at Faidherbe that involved ABBA and a lot of spandex. Got me thinking: how did I go from living at the Zoo in London to teaching undergrads in Montreal to listening to ABBA in Lille? Life is weird.