Tiny Dancers

In preparation for a return to scholastic living, I went to the university today to do a bit more than the running back and forth. I picked up some books for my American Lit course that I ordered online. It's the first time I've used online services to order books, but since it saved me some money ($10-$15), I'll probably be using it again--got to start putting money away for the next bicycle disaster. (I just got it back from the shop--$90 for a new chain, new brake chords, and other sadly necessary repairs. Anything goes wrong with it now, it's going to the "farm.") The books had all arrived and were waiting in my mailbox, which is nice. I'm a little nervous about the course--I looked back over my past academia, and I haven't looked at any 20th century American Lit in a course since 2002. How did that happen? How has it not come up?

At any rate, I ran into the ongoing dancers on my way out. (Is it a dancing camp? Do they have those?) And, it seems I owe someone an apology. In an earlier post, way back in the halcyon times of two days ago, I mocked a sign warning people not dance in university hallways. As it turned out, I should be the one who is mocked. In flagrant disrespect for black and red signs put on bulletin boards, there was a little girl pirouetting in the halls as I left the building. Another asked me if I was dancer too. (No, dear. Not in any way, shape, or form. Never, never, never. No.) And a third had the absolute audacity to run ahead of me, hold the door open, and wish me a nice day! They must be stopped!

Oooh, I wish I had a lawn, so I could tell them to get off it.

Later Days.

Take your youthful exuberence and get out.

In part of my ongoing efforts to stave off the ogre that is boredom, I've taken to running to the U of Blank and back every day to check my mail. And while wandering the backhalls to get to the mailroom (profs aren't really impressed running into students that are dripping sweat, you know), I inevitably must push my way through a small ocean of prepubescent, often giggling, girls.

The English department, along with most of the other arts departments on campus, are in a building that includes a large theatre, a theatre that the university rents out on a fairly regular basis, as part of an ongoing plan to stay in touch with the community at large and profit from doing so. At the moment, that means for the past week or so, the halls have been filled with young girls preparing for dance recitals. And how are the esteemed professors reacting to this invasion of space? Well, as people who have devoted their lives to the greater understanding of the human condition, surely they are intrigued by the option to experience a widespread social phenomenon first hand, right?

Good lord, no.

In the professors' defence, it IS April, which means quite a lot of them are here to do marking and grading in peace and quiet, and if there's one word to describe an eleven year old girl at a dance recital, "quiet" is not it. But I'm not quite sure they needed to go so far as produce signs:

Please avoid any and all dancing in the halls.
Faculty and staff are trying to work.

The emphasis, by the way, is not mine. The best part, I think, is that it is a warning to everyone, not just the kids, not to dance in the halls. And whether the signs are necessary or not, and whether they have produced the desired effect or not, I personally am very, very glad that they are there. I especially hope they stay up after the little girls have packed up their tights and gone home. Wouldn't you want to work in a department where it was necessary to have a sign like that up all year round? Just in case someone burst spontaneously into dance?

I know I would.

And I don't even like dancing.

Later Days.