Every so-often I make an attempt at becoming more intellectual (or at least appearing more intellectual). These experiments usually end with me drooling in an open newspaper or hurting myself with some 19th century accessory that I don't know how to use. The lastest thing is a "gentleman's book club" that some friends and I have started up. We're going to read about a book a month and choose books that are of lasting significance to us in some way. We get together once a week to talk about what we get from them and act smart. The first book on the list: Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. From what I understand this is about some old woman's children taking their mother's body some place far away to bury her.
From the get-go I have concerns that I won't be able to pull through this. The premise doesn't exactly sound thrilling. Tomorrow I'll be heading to the library to check out a copy since I'm too cheap to buy it. Imagine that! Someone using a library for it's intended purpose, recreational reading!
Other than that it's business as usual for me. I still have to find an internship for next semester (SOON!) and get some schedule stuff straightened out. I'm starting to feel the heat of the big "post graduation" question and I still don't have an answer. I still have faith that God will provide but any prayer on the subject is always appreciated. I assure you, I'm putting thought into it.
Do you think a wolf would eat beefaroni?
Monday, November 12, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
If it's Going to Have a Wok, I'm Pretty Sure it Should be a Golden One
November Weighs More…
I have a twenty-minute walk to class from the front door of building five in the Seahawk Landing. I’m not sure but I think it’s right at a mile long. All of my classes, save one, are located in a little building that’s begging for renovation called Morton Hall. The classrooms in this building are designed to be the educational equivalent of the clown car. While watching Dr. Laudadio try to pace around the front of the room without running into desks and/or trashcans provides a reasonable amount of amusement, I find the cramped quarters to be quite annoying.
- Of course, this is neither here nor there.
I was walking to class this morning and it was knocking on 50 degrees with a strong wind and all I had on was a thin t-shirt and a UNCW hoodie.* It created one of those sensations that I’m sure we’re all familiar with and most of us probably hate. The wind would constantly pierce through my sweatshirt making my arms intensely cold, but at the same time the heat of my body made me feel all, warm. I do not approve of this feeling.
- But what are you going to do?
I had yet another English class this morning. It was a pretty decent class, my “Reading and Writing Arguments” with Donald Bushman. All we did was peer review. I forgot to bring my draft. Sigh. I did, in spite of this, provide one of the best peer reviews I’ve ever done for a classmate of mine named Ian. His paper was only marginally interesting, but that’s probably just because I’m not a big baseball fan.
While I don’t have any real issues with my writing classes, I feel it’s high time that I document my sentiment toward the literature classes that I’ve been involved with so far.
They’re garbage.
Now, it’s probably important that I clarify so that I don’t sound like a judgmental idiot that just doesn’t like to do his work. Quite the contrary, I don’t mind the work. I mean, sure there is a ton of reading and some hefty papers that have to be written, but I don’t mind that – I kind of signed up for it. What gets me about these classes it that they’re so speculative and so little of the discussion that we have is grounded in things that we might actually be able to retain or are of any importance. A typical discussion, ESPECIALLY IN POETRY, usually starts with a reading of the work or quick recap, followed by what I can only imagine must be an imaginary flag wave to signal the start of off-topic or ridiculous comments – which fill the entire class period with seemingly pointless discussion. There is a kid that sits next to me in one class that really gets my goat. He spends about 5 minutes just trying to spit his comment out because he’s forming his thoughts as he’s speaking them. As you might expect, this leads, more often than not, to a vastly unsatisfying conclusion and I’m left, once again, considering what useful functions my brain could have been working on during that time.
The other day I thought of something that made me laugh out loud in the middle of all of it. I’m pretty sure that at almost any point in class I could pose the following question and a significant amount of conversation would flow in direct response to it:
“How do you think this {piece, section, point, line, etc.} relates to John Stamos?”
I can hear them now…
“Well, that’s an interesting point. John Stamos’ career has been experiencing a recent revitalization of sorts and we kind of see that also in line 13 where Hughes kind of references his own return to the spotlight after the initial fire sparked in the Harlem Renaissance had kind of faded.“
“I think if John Stamos were here right now, he’d really have something to say about the Greek allusions made in this poem. I’m pretty sure that his heritage as a Greek would give him a little more insight into the life of the classic philosophers that so inspired the imagists of the 19teens and 20s.”
“Contemporary literature could conceivably owe a lot to John Stamos. I mean, it’s not something that we jump to initially, but we obviously count Pop Culture as an extension of the social text of the day. When we watch Full House we’re seeing the recorded culture of that time period and so part of our understanding of that period, even if it’s just a small part, we owe to John Stamos.”
If my professor asked what I thought, I’d do exactly what I always do. Smile and say:
Oh, I agree completely.
*My UNCW hooded sweatshirt was won by my roommate, Bryan and since he has a million such sweatshirts, he gave it to me. While I’m very grateful for this gift, a $35 value, I can’t help but be kind of bothered by the sheer number of people, (especially girls) which I pass every day that are wearing the exact same hoodie. I’m a loser.
And so passes my 300th post, with little fanfare.
I have a twenty-minute walk to class from the front door of building five in the Seahawk Landing. I’m not sure but I think it’s right at a mile long. All of my classes, save one, are located in a little building that’s begging for renovation called Morton Hall. The classrooms in this building are designed to be the educational equivalent of the clown car. While watching Dr. Laudadio try to pace around the front of the room without running into desks and/or trashcans provides a reasonable amount of amusement, I find the cramped quarters to be quite annoying.
- Of course, this is neither here nor there.
I was walking to class this morning and it was knocking on 50 degrees with a strong wind and all I had on was a thin t-shirt and a UNCW hoodie.* It created one of those sensations that I’m sure we’re all familiar with and most of us probably hate. The wind would constantly pierce through my sweatshirt making my arms intensely cold, but at the same time the heat of my body made me feel all, warm. I do not approve of this feeling.
- But what are you going to do?
I had yet another English class this morning. It was a pretty decent class, my “Reading and Writing Arguments” with Donald Bushman. All we did was peer review. I forgot to bring my draft. Sigh. I did, in spite of this, provide one of the best peer reviews I’ve ever done for a classmate of mine named Ian. His paper was only marginally interesting, but that’s probably just because I’m not a big baseball fan.
While I don’t have any real issues with my writing classes, I feel it’s high time that I document my sentiment toward the literature classes that I’ve been involved with so far.
They’re garbage.
Now, it’s probably important that I clarify so that I don’t sound like a judgmental idiot that just doesn’t like to do his work. Quite the contrary, I don’t mind the work. I mean, sure there is a ton of reading and some hefty papers that have to be written, but I don’t mind that – I kind of signed up for it. What gets me about these classes it that they’re so speculative and so little of the discussion that we have is grounded in things that we might actually be able to retain or are of any importance. A typical discussion, ESPECIALLY IN POETRY, usually starts with a reading of the work or quick recap, followed by what I can only imagine must be an imaginary flag wave to signal the start of off-topic or ridiculous comments – which fill the entire class period with seemingly pointless discussion. There is a kid that sits next to me in one class that really gets my goat. He spends about 5 minutes just trying to spit his comment out because he’s forming his thoughts as he’s speaking them. As you might expect, this leads, more often than not, to a vastly unsatisfying conclusion and I’m left, once again, considering what useful functions my brain could have been working on during that time.
The other day I thought of something that made me laugh out loud in the middle of all of it. I’m pretty sure that at almost any point in class I could pose the following question and a significant amount of conversation would flow in direct response to it:
“How do you think this {piece, section, point, line, etc.} relates to John Stamos?”
I can hear them now…
“Well, that’s an interesting point. John Stamos’ career has been experiencing a recent revitalization of sorts and we kind of see that also in line 13 where Hughes kind of references his own return to the spotlight after the initial fire sparked in the Harlem Renaissance had kind of faded.“
“I think if John Stamos were here right now, he’d really have something to say about the Greek allusions made in this poem. I’m pretty sure that his heritage as a Greek would give him a little more insight into the life of the classic philosophers that so inspired the imagists of the 19teens and 20s.”
“Contemporary literature could conceivably owe a lot to John Stamos. I mean, it’s not something that we jump to initially, but we obviously count Pop Culture as an extension of the social text of the day. When we watch Full House we’re seeing the recorded culture of that time period and so part of our understanding of that period, even if it’s just a small part, we owe to John Stamos.”
If my professor asked what I thought, I’d do exactly what I always do. Smile and say:
Oh, I agree completely.
*My UNCW hooded sweatshirt was won by my roommate, Bryan and since he has a million such sweatshirts, he gave it to me. While I’m very grateful for this gift, a $35 value, I can’t help but be kind of bothered by the sheer number of people, (especially girls) which I pass every day that are wearing the exact same hoodie. I’m a loser.
And so passes my 300th post, with little fanfare.
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