Vacation's over. Time to move back into professorial mode. It's been an eventful summer, stressful at times, but mostly wonderful beyond expectations. Over the past few days, I have been gradually transforming back into the phlegmatic grammarian and lover of classics I'm paid (not too well) to be. Monday I face the bright shiny faces again. Today and tomorrow are the worst part of the job--a series of meetings meant to get us "back into the swing of things," but actually they're PowerPoint-transmitted lobotomies. Thank my lucky stars there's been a friendly face to raise my spirits through the perilous trek.
Whether wrestling ... working out ... gorging carbs ... striking his Blue Steel look for the cameras ... hanging with pals Mikey Nicholls, Jonah Rock, and Zack Sabre Jr. ... showing off his gift for comic self-parody ... taking selfies ... but mainly wrestling, Shane Haste has been my six-foot-one, 220-pound animal guide. I have binged on his YouTube matches and faithfully attended to his every food-obsessed Tweet. And in a weeks-long lull in my enthusiasm for wrestling (temporary, I suspect), he has dependably raised my temperature and quickened my pulse. (And happily I'm not the only one with the fever.)