boss tweed

i was going to start this with a brief discussion of the carmichael function, but on second thought i'm thinking it's too much to tackle for now. maybe we'll wait until fall, when it cools down and you're all wearing something a little more modest--something fitting for such an analysis. after all, it's still summer, and everyone is crazy, tiptoeing around at the seaside. perhaps it's best we wait. so instead i'll tell a little story you can enjoy with your icy drink and your beefy summer snack. when i was a youngster, i attended a school that was host to a quite spectacular teacher. she first introduced me to james joyce, an introduction for which i owe her a great deal. in any case, this woman was such a wit, such a clever brute, that i daresay she scared off everyone but the most hale of juniors. for those that held on by our bitten nubs, the rewards were fantastic. i think, though, that her brilliance left her somewhat absent-minded where practical matters were concerned. her clothes were often mismatched, and owing to her height (she was easily over 6 feet tall) most pants proved too short. she solved the issue by sewing on thick strips of lace, or other fabric in order to extend the legs. she wore clunky sandals, and well, you get the picture. let me pause to say that i really adored this woman. she was fantastic. anyway, one brisk afternoon, she had on a sort of tweedy jacket. it was the kind of blazer that had the elbow patches and had a nubby fabric. she advanced to the blackboard to explain some literary term she had just thrown out at the numb faces in the classroom, and as she raised her arm to write the term on the board, it was revealed that a black sock was clinging to the jacket, just under her arm. well, i don't have to tell you the reaction of a room full of 16-year-olds. she didn't care much though. she peeled it away and went on discussing satire or whatever it was. i found out later, she moved back east and married an irishman. good for her.