I remember reading some time ago about the City of Pittsburgh losing three large pieces of installation art and the artist’s multiple year search to locate them. I think they were found in storage under a bridge.
So Pittsburgh resembles my closets.
Like a week ago, some maintenance workers happened to find the potty used by Abraham Lincoln in the old Monogahela House while fixing a leaky roof. Everyone’s making a fuss about the bed it was with, also slept in by King Edward and two other presidents who were assassinated, but I’m far more intrigued by the idea of presidental bowel movements, although I suppose it could be an apocryphal chamber pot and not the one he actually used. In reference to the demise of so many of the bed’s occupants: “I don’t know whether it’s been cursed or not,” said Mr. Masich, some history guy, in all apparent seriousness. They moved the pieces of the bed, which are apparently infested with insects and covered in century-old down feathers, in body bags.
The Sunday plan is to spend the entire day drinking coffee and reading the teaching manuals that I dropped a lot of money on in Jeju-si on Friday. Perhaps the effect will not last beyond the next school day, but it is empowering to ride the bus carrying the soundness of researched methodology. In my mind, an unsuccessful class will be easier to bear knowing that, at least, my methodology is sound. I probably do not need Psycholinguistic Theories of Second Language Acquisition, but there must be an empty space in my soul where college used to be, because I couldn’t resist it.