Class is in session, punks!

Pfrsue has been my internet "handle" or "nick" or "whatever" since Noah sent out a dove and it came back with a free trial membership offer from AOL. It's actually meant to be understood as, "P.F.R. Sue", but I've heard it pronounced as pfersue and even phieffer sue. And though the letters PFR have a specific meaning for me (if you know it, I'll give you a cookie), a lot of people assume that it stands for Professor. Of course, those would be people who don't know me very well. Those who do know me are generally aware that I am basically an uneddumatriculated chowderhead.

Yet, despite all rumors and truths to the contrary, l'il ol' me, least of the mutants, recently stood before a classroom of college students and expounded with great loquacity about the phenomenon that is MRFH — and my own little corner in it. (You know, the corner without the view, next to the men's room, behind the door that says "Janitorial Supply".)

Now this all came about for several reasons. First of all, it took place at the local campus of the Madison Area Technical College which is only a mile or two from home sweet home. Secondly, I myself am a past student of the Creative Writing class there. (I got a 4.0!) Thirdly, the teacher, Barb, is a good friend of mine. Fourthly - well, that's still in litigation but I'm sure those pictures will be duly destroyed as the contract stipulated. And lastly, I'd read my Brokeback Mountain review at a meeting of the local writing club, and Barb liked it enough to request that I read it to her class.

"In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the... Anyone? Anyone?... the Great Depression, passed the... Anyone? Anyone? The tariff bill? The Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act?"

Not being much of a public speaker, I was really pretty nervous about the whole endeavor, so I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to decide what to say, how to say it, and plotting escape routes in the event of a mob uprising. I think I typed about ten pages of interesting and useful bits of advice for fledgling writers. However on the morning of my speaking engagement, I read over those notes and realized they were a load of pretentious crap. At least I saved some paper and ink!

Anyway, the pre-professorial jitters continued all the way into the classroom. It wasn't a large group — not even twenty students, but (as in most tech college classes) they were a diverse bunch and the age range was enough to guarantee the entire spectrum of cynicism — from teenage angst to worldly despair. (Seriously, they were all nice and there were quite a few legitimately talented writers in the group.)

It might have been a disaster, but fate smiled upon me as the first half of the class was devoted to a short (but not short enough) film entitled "The Red Balloon". Basically it's the story of a balloon, the boy who loves it and their epic adventures together in the streets of... some French town, I think. It's really awful.

So, when I was introduced to the class, I stacked the cards in my favor by giving the students an option. Either they could put up with my pedantic rambling, or they could watch "The Red Balloon" again. Ramble on, their eyes pleaded. Pleeeeeease ramble!

BEHOLD THE MRFH IN ITS UNSHELTERED GLORY!

Using modern technology, I managed to project the MRFH homepage onto the wall, then talked about the site, the staff, the history of MRFH and of course the amount of work that goes into a standard review before it can be posted. We had one shaky moment when I mentioned that The Doom Generation is the worst movie ever and a student who looked like she could snap me in half with two fingers rather vehemently disagreed. All seemed lost , but I courageously changed the subject and lived to tell the tale. Interestingly enough, there seemed to be a strong horror contingent within the group and a few of the students had a comprehensive knowledge of the genre that would place them in good stead on the MRFH forum.

I think there was some disappointment when I had to admit (under direct questioning) that being a mutant is a non-paying gig, but as I pointed out, there are definite advantages to writing for love as opposed to financial obligation. It's not that I would strenuously object to a paycheck with the MRFH logo on it, but there's a special joy to doing something for no greater reason than that you WANT to do it. It's sort of built-in quality control really. And working for a site that's been enjoyed by so many people doesn't look half-bad on a resumé either.

Anyway, as it turned out, I had a great time representing Mutant Reviewers. I hope the class enjoyed it as much as I did.

Don't forget to read chapters 11-17 for tomorrow's discussion. Essays need to be on my desk by three o'clock on Tuesday. No excuses, people.

Hey, maybe I'm getting the hang of this...