Viva le Vegas

We've been indulging in a Johnny Vegas smörgåsbord of late, everything from the oh-so-accurately named 18 Stone of Idiot (by the by, U.S. readers: 1 stone = 14 lbs.) to the Johnny Vegas Guide to Evangelicals (far more interesting than it sounds), with stops off at Room 101 and various random tidbits. I think it all started with watching old episodes of Vic & Bob's Shooting Stars. From the third season Vegas was a regular along with wordy-wordy-wordsmith Will Self and Ulrika (ka ka!) Jonsson. But he's also made the transition to "real" acting in things like Bleak House, The Libertine and the series Happiness, which we're finally getting around to seeing. So the upshot is Gene and I go around talking in our Johnny Vegas voices to one another. Yet another thing we do that no one understands...

My students in the film class (Writers in Motion) -- normally the uplifting moment of my teaching day -- deflated me yesterday by declaring writing to be devoid of cachet in our time: Who doesn't have a blog? Anyone can be in print with Lulu! Everybody's a writer, they tell me, so there's nothing special about it. Ouch. However, they always have interesting opinions and thoughtful responses, so I'm content.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is my creative writing students, who seem to have decided that they don't need to bother doing the readings assigned. They had nothing to say about Beckett's "Not I" -- no, really. I can understand being confused (of course!) or irritated, but shrugging? Working in class, it became apparent that they simply didn't read it. So, first, we watched this version; then for their workshops on Wednesday, they are writing little dramatic scenes about two students discussing their assignment -- Beckett's "Not I" -- and how they can make sense of it. Meta!