School Nostalgia, or Why I Bought A Book about Puns the Other Day

I miss school. (And if you think: "I see 'I miss school,' but what I really read is 'I'm a big, fat nerd'"...well then. You're probably right.)

Right now, in all reality, I feel pretty content with my life. I get along well with my roommates. I have settled into something of a routine in my new position at work. And even further, work has helped me learn that sometimes it's okay to accept the chaos and just join in the crazy. In an ironic twist, even, I'm learning that sometimes you have to join in the crazy to stay sane.

But there are moments that something reminds me of past school experiences and I can't help but get a little weepy. Yes, you read that right: weepy. (Again: Big. Fat. Nerd. Not denying it.) And there are some things that I can't completely resist when they remind me of such.

For example, a notable and lively discussion in one of my classes revolved around puns. Someone asked why puns were considered the lowest form of humor; in turn, the professor asked us to attempt to define exactly what a pun is. A dozen graduate students, mind you--a mix of Ph.D. and Master's candidates--and we could not reach any type of consensus.

We all agreed (at least as I recall) that wordplay was necessary, but that seemed to be the only point of agreement. We couldn't decide if puns were innately political, always subversive, or even if they inevitably resulted in humor. For crying out loud, you'd think we would have also agreed on whether or not a pun is funny. (Except that sometimes they are and sometimes they're not.) It was a stand-out discussion, the type of discussion that only happens in an academic environment that allows the luxury of spending fifteen minutes or more fighting about wordplay.

And that is why I teared up a little when I saw a book entitled The Pun Also Rises at the bookstore a couple of days ago. It's also why I immediately seized the book, hugged it, did a somewhat impromptu small jig, and added it to the pile of bounty I collected.

I'll let you know if it's any good.

My Fall Schedule

Most people looked at me askance when I told them my plans for the fall: full-time work and 6 graduate credit hours. Many of them are concerned for my well-being (mental, physical, and otherwise). Some of them are concerned I have some complex that causes me to think I'm Wonder Woman. (Note: I don't.) And a couple of them are pretty sure they will have an absentee roommate in the fall. (Entirely possible: I'll be there, but I won't truly be there, if you know what I mean)

And if you were one of the people who thought I just may be crazy, well, you're probably right. Because it's no longer full-time work and 6 graduate credit hours. It's now full-time work and 9 graduate credit hours. Indeed, I'll be a full-time worker and a full-time student and a sometime sleeper, roommate, and friend.

No worries. I'm sure that, after August 25, I will still have some Internet presence. Procrastination has always been an essential part of my character as a student--and though I know I won't be able to get away with procrastinating in the monumental (and, I've been told, disgustingly unfair) fashion I did as an undergrad (My best grade was on a 10-page paper I wrote in three hours the night before it was due. I don't even recall reading over it for grammatical errors before I handed it in.), I have no doubts I will still periodically put off till tomorrow what I could have done two weeks ago.

If anything should need to fall by the way side, it will most assuredly be my job. And they've promised to be understanding if that happens. But they think I'm so extraordinary that I can juggle it. Maybe I am extraordinary.

Or maybe I'm extraordinarily crazy.

Either way, I'm looking forward to my graduate student experience.