Again: how do you blog something you have, like, two pictures of? That’s yet another use for a clone: Clone Photographer. I’ll pay attention in class, while my personal clone photographer scouts for photo ops. Then I post away and take credit for it all.
I love a teacher who 1) gives homework before class instead of taking class time to blather about nothing while you pay to knit a swatch you could knit in your sleep 2) starts on time instead of waiting for late-comers while blathering away about nothing while you pay to wait 3) has enough material to fill the time instead of ending early like you’re in 7th period trig and should be happy about it 4) thinks of ingenious ways to effectively transmit esoteric details of lore, instead of leaving them out because they’re “too hard, just google it.”
This class had all four of my Prime Components, plus the charming Mr. Habit. Franklin gave us homework; started on time and talked briefly about the importance of doing so (I couldn’t agree more, anal retentive annoyance that I am); gave us a hand-drawn, cunning little handout and stuffed both it and the class with ideas; and used a computer monitor and video camera to give us small-group demonstrations of difficult stitches.
He told us it was the maiden voyage of the class, and hoped we would find it interesting. He told us that Stitches wouldn’t accept it on their roster because they were concerned knitters wouldn’t sign up. At Madrona, a tiny little festival when compared to the gargantuan feast that is Stitches, this class was at capacity, with a waiting list. I’d say Franklin hit it out of the park, and hopefully Stitches will reconsider.
I hope I don’t sound like too much of a stalker here, but Franklin Habit has the clearest, kindest-looking brown eyes I’ve ever seen; his voice is also very calm and kind. I wasn’t expecting this, given his utterly wicked sense of humor. I think he’s the type of person who could ask some very straight-laced person, “What the fuck kind of tree is that?” and the prim one wouldn’t even hear the f-bomb snuggled away in there. I know I’m not his type, but I’m kind of crushing on him.