bipolar is an orange flute

For those of you out there keeping track, it's been a while since I last posted something--anything--that was not related to school, or work, or how I feel pretty crazy and/or like every time I open my mouth I run the risk of drowning to death on my own self-obsessed boringness. So here's a treat for you tonight: a deep thought.

Man, this is such a good time of the year to pull out all the Ben Folds records I own and listen to them. Because he writes good relationship songs, even for someone that has been married and divorced something like four times. Or maybe because he has been married and divorced something like four times.

Not enough, huh? Try this:

In creative writing class today I jumped around like an excited monkey in a cardigan* and talked about figurative language, why it matters, how to make new and exciting metaphors and similes out of cliches, etc. This is a pretty pivotal point to make in an intro writing class, and for that reason I tend to spend a lot of time forcing my students to bust cliches as a class and play a little game Jeano and I invented called The Metaphor Mash. It tends to garner some interesting results. My favorites from today:

Dead as four a.m.
Quick like your last boyfriend
Dumb as Paris**
Mad as a rage kitty
Cold as a last kiss
Running like an arsonist
and

Bipolar is an orange flute.
Not bad, gang. Not bad at all.


*you think I kid, but I ended up with white board marker in my mouth at one point, so yeah.
**I know this is referring to a certain starlet, but I like the sound of it when taken as a city--like, Oh, that City of Light. What a dumbass.