Bathroom grafitti and teaching arts students.

In the men's room at Faceless Corporation's Call Centre of Hell^TM, the poorly lit stall right at the end is called the Boys Corner. Or so one piece of grafitti tells me. Sounds a little toilet-block-in-the-park, if you ask me. Anyway, working at Faceless Corporation has taught me one thing: toilet grafitti is where the cutting political satire is to be found. Behold my dodgy html table representation of an actual piece of toilet wall grafitti:

Election 2004

Howard	Mark Latham Riddel	Taronga Zoo ape
|||	||||	|||| |||| ||

Obviously, it's a reliable, peer-reviewed source. I think I might even need to put a reference in, APA style. Heaven help me if I'm caught plagarising.

Meanwhile at uni today, the main activity in my craft knowledge tutorial was to teach the tute group something from your curriculum area. So Mister Nick and I, being the only science students in the class, banded together and tried to engage the rest of the class, all B Arts kids, with the physical phenomena of dispersion of white light through prisms.

It all went pretty well on reflection. According to the feedback, our pseudo-lesson was interesting and threw up a lot of questions which apparently points to engagement and deep learning. Which is good and all. But-- well, I sucked. No, seriously - I'm not just being hard on myself. Mister Nick stole the show and was just excellent. I, on the other hand, sucked teh ball.

I guess it's only early days yet - a first small foray into proper teaching in the classroom setting, as opposed to presenting a report or something to a tute group. Either that, or I'd be as good a teacher as a horse's arse. I suppose the question now is whether teachers are born or made. Some are born, I'd like to think. Like Mister Nick. Warm, approachable and altogether mentally coordinated. Others, well, maybe they're made. I hope. For my sake.


Listening to:
Title: I'm Looking Through You
Artist: The Wallflowers
Album/station: I Am Sam OST (2001)
Length: 2.40