So, if I were typing this somewhere other than class and had more than ten seconds in between important points about post-WWI US politics (*yawn* sealed borders, economic boom, mafia, heard it all before) I would link to this, but do you remember Big Daddy? My methods professor whom I hated, then loved, then cried over because I had a breakdown during finals week, then he told me I was an astounding student? Of course you do. Because I’m that interesting.
(Apparently the Catholic Herald finds me interesting. They’re following me on Twitter. This is disturbing.)
I e-mailed him to thank him for the whole outstanding student thing and also to totally hit him up for a letter of recommendation, because a.) I need letters from people who aren’t hated by the rest of the faculty, and b.) I am in awe of his ability to convince the faculties of major universities that graffiti is serious research material. He wrote back that he would be thrilled to write a letter for me. Aww. Big Daddy. I love you.
Then I applied for a research position, and I needed to give a faculty member for a recommendation. I, of course, called upon my dear, dear friend Big Daddy. Hey. You offer me help, you will be giving me help. Then I realized that I should probably let him know that I put his name on the letter.
After I received a response about how he’d be happy to support any history-related endeavors I should choose to pursue, I realized that I have now e-mailed him twice in a week begging for academic affirmation. Which is a little creepy.
But he hasn’t blocked my e-mail address yet. So now I’m thinking about what other endeavors in my life he could help me with. Like, could he help me put together the grad school applications? Can he pay my Capital One bill that I keep forgetting about? Can he drive me to Cafe Aduro tonight so I can drink?
Maybe I’ll e-mail him about that one.