I admit to a growing addiction: for the past month or so, I catch an episode or two of Letterkenny before going to bed. It’s got the best rhythms and language since Deadwood, and is similarly profane and abusive, although it’s also extremely Canadian. It reminds me vaguely of Morris cranked up to 11, although I’m constantly brought up short by the fact that it’s set in a town of 5000 people, just like Morris, but seems far more cosmopolitan than this place.
Anyway, I watched two whole episodes last night before sitting down to grade student essays, which was a bad idea. The papers seemed less…eloquent, somehow. Lacking in Canadian hockey slang. A dearth of cunning slurs delivered deadpan. I’m not going to repeat that today, because I’ve got an even bigger pile of papers to grade, and I have to maintain a level of realism in my evaluation.
I think my plan for the day is to retreat to a coffeeshop (after tending to the spiders) and work in quiet isolation until the pile is gone.
Once that happens, then Letterkenny. Gotta figure out how many syllables Wayne can put into the word “day”.