Well,
As some you recall, I have the teacher from hell for one of my classes. He’s been teaching incorrect rules of grammer and MLA formatting and Word formatting all semester. I know damn well he never expected to have a student that would catch him on all of his mistakes. He continuously refers to us as babies, he’s told us that if we didn’t like the curriculum, we could take special ed, but the worst is what he said to me as he gave me my A on the midterm. Every time he gave us misinformation, I printed a database with the correct rule, including a paper on the difference between a proportional font, such as Times New Roman (the required font), and a fixed font such as Courier. I also reported his ass to the Dean every time and reported everything he said. Like when he gave me my midterm grade, and told me that if he had taken it personally, he would have given me a D. The Dean was not happy when she heard that.
For another class, I had to write my autobiography as part of the final project. Some people tried to get over by writing as few as 3 pages. That wasn’t my problem. My problem was that I couldn’t stop writing. The paper that I handed in last night is 52 pages long, and includes photos and a Works Cited page. It ends when I’m 28 years old (in 1988), and I’ve just finished describing the fabulous ceremony that took place when we unfolded the Names Project Quilt on the Ellipse in 1988. I plane on continuing the book, which is how I already think of it, and seeing if I can self-publish on a site like iUniverse. that would be cool.
