Tuesday/Thursdays At 3pm

Yesterday in Playwriting class (our last official one of the semester), we were supposed to spend a good chunk of time reading each other's one-act scripts aloud and giving feedback. What happened instead was much more riveting. I wish I had a video, but I was too drawn in by the moment and didn't want to break the spell.
Our professor, the gently formidable and whimsical Mark Stevick (or just Mark, as he insists we call him), got swept up recounting the time he saw the play that changed the course of his entire life- Orphans, by Samuel French. I've seen this play (on Broadway with Alec Baldwin and Tom Sturrige, no less) , and it's indeed phenomenal. But I've never loved it more than I did yesterday. In some sort of dramatic illustration of the power of throwing your audience right into the middle of the action (or something- I don't fully remember what brought it on, and frankly, who cares?), he launched straight into the first scene of the play:
"'Come on out, Phillip! I ain't in the mood for no games. Where are ya, Phillip?' Phillip's crouched in the corner. 'Don't tag me.' 'I ain't gonna tag you.' 'I'm tired of bein' it, Treat.'" He switched from the growling older brother Treat to the wide-eyed, huddling Phillip in a fraction of a second, spitting out the lines word for word. There was this moment of confusion, then delight between all of us at our desks as we exchanged wondering glances, realizing he knew the script by heart. His entire body language and mannerisms changed instantly from character to character. It seemed of the utmost importance that we grasp the dramatic power of the words. "And then Harold clamps his arm around poor Phillip! *makes a thumping sound of an arm hitting a shoulder* 'Do you feel encouraged?' 'Yeah.' I mean it's-" 
He painted his entire evening in that West End theater, right down to the Coke he drank at intermission and the British accents of the theatergoers around him. "'Whatta ya think?' *British drawl* 'It's quite good, yea.'" When he got to the end, he was crouched down on the floor, acting out the final scene of the weeping brothers. Then he was himself again, miming the tears streaming down the face of his former, theater-going self. "My whole body turned into a clap. 'BRAV-F&*#!-NG-O!'" He lept into the air, clapping with his whole arms. As long as I live, I will never forget Mark Stevick's whole body turning into a clap. My hands were pressed over my mouth, surpassing my joyous giggling. I think I was crying a little. He was, too. He came down from his theatrical high, waxing nostalgia about the power of great theater and what it had meant to him that night, tears in his eyes. It was incredible. We all applauded raucously when he finished.

It's moments like this when I think- how can I leave? How can the year be over? How can I spend an entire fall away from these people, and from English classes? How dare I? Not that Mark Stevick holds it against me. When I responded to his email inviting me into his 400-level Literary Journal class saying that I'd be abroad in London, he was nothing but thrilled for me. "London!" he kept saying in the email. That's how it ended:
"All the best,
Mark

London!"

I can't do justice to him or the class. But I had to at least write it down. Here's a video of him I did manage to take one day. It's horrible, but I was having too much fun to focus the lens of my iPhone camera.

Anyways. Hope that is a partially-fun snapshot of my college career thus far. I'm almost halfway done! (No need to remind me of that, by the way. I'd like to remain in denial.)