things students will do for paper extensions:

make up rap/songs about the class

play the "Zelda" theme song on a violin that hadn't been tuned since last December. (he tuned it right before he played, but warned us that it doesn't hold its tune very well after such a long hiatus. whatevs, kid.)


eat a twinkie in one bite



dress like Jimmer but with two ties.




crochet scarfs for roommates

stuff their mouths (and ear!) with as many gummy worms as possible.

go a few days without a shower

chug a disgusting mix of milk, soda, juice and every other liquid in the Canon Center. (also, there was a gummy worm at the bottom of the bottle.)

eat as many Oreos in a minute as possible



I guess the question is, what won't students do for an extension? (especially superuptight honors students.)

Question: What would you have done?

things students will do for paper extensions:

about three of them went various number of months without shaving their legs. here's an illustration.

things students will do for paper extensions:

dress awkwardly. but not quite so awkwardly that people can be sure it's a costume.

things students will do for paper extensions:

Bucket list: see a monk do a belly dance to Shakira.

Check.

things students will do for paper extensions:

share with us one of their most embarrassing "slip ups." 

Student Poem of the Day

Procrastination:

a seven haiku series

(I'll write the rest soon.)

(by Zach Yancey: one of my procrastinating Honors students.)

Am I just punch drunk from grading? Or does this make you laugh out loud?

extension: totally granted.

Intra-Class-Romance: An Awkward Love Story

photo love story provided by two (really dating!) students who needed extensions and know how amusing SWILUA finds intra-class romances.

Only at BYU

 do you read a paper with sentences like:

"Every student here on campus deserves the right to eat without the distractions of short skirts and unkempt hair."

This place is hilarious.

Back to grading.

In Which I am Very Disappointed in my Offspring

We found this note (scribbled in kid's Crest toothpaste and reading "Your dead Dad") on our bathroom mirror:

Needless to say, I was very disappointed.

I mean, how can I call myself an English professor when my very own children don't know the difference between "your" and "you're?"