in which I drink too much grape juice and accept I will never be Robin Williams
The first book I ever taught to undergraduates was Jamaica Kincaid’s An Autobiography of My Mother. I was a TA in Terry Doody’s Twentieth-Century British Literature course at Rice University. That morning I had downed what was just a ridiculous amount of grape juice. I still don’t know why I did that. It did not end […]
Failing Loudly 