dannydmc

"Well I don't need a doctor/ I don't need a nurse/ anything you give me/ will only make me worse/ I need a rock, a rock, a rock, therapy/ A rock, a rock, a rock therapy/ oh give it me, oh give it to me, oh give it to me/"

So god damned true! I've had a rough week, which I'll get into later, and came home tonight in a bad mood. I had school work, as always, and was ready to just throw myself at the books once again, even though melloncholly had snuck up on me once again. It was at this point that I remembered that a band my sister had raved about was playing in my town tonight. Despite my lack of money and work to so, I decided to head down to the local venue and check them out.
I am so glad I did.
Fat Maw Rooney is a jam band from Plattville Wisconsin, and not usually my type of music (I'm not a huge fan of the Jam bands; I'm a greaser/hellbilly not a hippi after all). But, more for my sister's sake than my own, I decided to head down and give them a listen. Great band!
Most Jam Bands have their share of classic rock and bluegrass inspiration, borrowed through the Greatful Dead of course; but this group added to that mixture a love of the blues and funk. I showed up to the show and immediately found myself jiving along to the tunes and loving every second of it. Even better, I ended up running into my Tattoo Artist and hitting it off with him once again.
It was just a great time; I drank, I danced, I smoked a cigar. The only downside was when I realized that, although my quiting smokign had been successful, I am powerless against the invasion presence against Tobacco after I've had a few years. It went a long way towards curing what ails me.

And what does ail me? A good question! You see, as a new grad student, I need to acquire Bs in all of my classes this semester in order to stay in the program. In two of my three classes this isn't a problem; my profs think well of me, I add useful discussion to class, and I've managed to do well on all of the assignments. I'd be lying if I said they all considered me the second-coming of Grad Students, but I wouldn't be too far off to say that they think I'll be very successful.
And then there is the OTHER class; my Historical Methodology and Research course which was, I firmly believe, devised by Satan! I have never, since High School, had a class which routinely made me feel stupid and inadaquit; a course which, upon leaving it each week, I want nothing more than to punch my first through the nearest wall. HS 701, however, manages to do this to me every time.
Presiding over this course of pain, is a Professor determined to find each and every fault with a work and, should be find none, create a few of hiwn own to knock down your score. This is the type of man who circles individual commas, leaves statements along the lines of "review comma usage" and then docks you points for the supposed infracture (I saw supposed because I routinely run a grammar check on my own and have my Father look it over as well; a grammar Nazi in his own right).
I need to obtain a B in this course in order to stay in the program and, I can't help but feel, the the Professor takes some sick satisfaction out of failing students.
Now, I have been a teacher myself, and the intellectual part of my brain knows that teachers rarely go out of their way to 'get' students. It takes too much effort, and most don't care enough to put that amount of energy into ruining a student's life. Why bother? I know this. And yet, the other side of me is convinced that this professor has taking a disliking to me and is hellbent on making sure that I don't stay with the program!
The other day I left class and, seriously, was using all of my energy not to put my fist through a wall. I can't remember the last time I was that angry with a teacher; possibly not since Freshman gym in High School where I had a gym teacher who routinely mocked me in front of the class.
I called my Father up that night, raging beating against my brow and told him the story. He laughed and said every student has at least one of those professors and told me the story of the time when he was getting his Masters degree, and ended up in a shouting match with one of his professors, on the street outside the building. This made me feel better; not only to know that my Father (who I admittingly idolozie) had the same situatiion, but also that I managed to control my temper better than him!
I'm going home for Thanksgiving and I think that having two days off of not thinking about that devil-class will help a great deal. I've noticed over they ears that, evne when you don't think about something, part of your brain still mauls it over. Hopefully this will happen and the ansewers will all come to me in the next few days. Even if they don't, I desperately want to see my family and friends again; I've been lonely lately and I need to spend some time with them. It will help me on this paper, I'm sure.
I WILL get on A on this final paper, I WILL pass this class and, upon getting my degree in a few years, I am going to shove this paper up my prof's ass! I don't give up easy; I'm a stubborn someuvabitch. If I didn't run crying from the village when one of my students tried to kill me, I certainly ain't going to run know. My heros include Theodore Roosevelt, Robert LaFollette and Robert Kennedy; three men who never ran from a good fight, and I'll be damned if I do anything they wouldn't do! I will succeed, though I sweat blood in the meantime. But I.WILL.CONQUER!

*takes a deep breath*

In other good news, I have over a half dozen women compliment by hair today I was at work and four girls came through my line and told me that both my Hair and I were 'Hot". When, at the club tonight, I had a few girls come up and ask to touch my hair and tell me how much they love it.
Yes, I admit it, I'm vain about my hair these days Although tis a bit embarrassing, I no longer care; I have good hair and I love it