Writing Center work isn't without its occasional amusements.
On Tuesday, I had a walk-up client working under time constraint. Normally, it's rather irritating when someone drops in and says something to the effect of, "This is due in 20 minutes, but I just wanted to have someone read it over real quick." His paper wasn't long, though, and I was of a decent disposition. The following is a pretty accurate rendering of the session's dialogue.
Client: I'm one of those guys that can wait until the last minute to write a huge paper and still get an A.
Me (filling out preliminary paperwork): That's good.
Client: I've just read A LOT. And I have a very strong grasp of how a sentence should sound. I don't think you'll find a whole lot wrong with (my paper).
(My peripheral vision catches one of my fellow tutors turn her head to my table)
Me: Well, that typically comes in handy.
Client: I really don't write much though. It's not my idea of a good time. I have a level 70 character on World of Warcraft. (Stretching & leaning back in his chair) Fear my hunter!
(At this point, I'm having to summon every ounce of restraint I've accumulated in my 23 years. Don't laugh at him, Brandon)
I'm struggling to find something to say in response, so I start reading his paper...half-expecting to encounter prose that sings.
Me: Okay, this sentence ends in a preposition.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Dumbledore, we hardly knew ye....but evidently Gellert Grindelwald knew ye
It's 1:00, Saturday morning. I'm climbing into bed. Phone rings. I choose to ignore it.
Phone rings again. Fearing an emergency, I pick it up.
Ryan: Hey man. What are you doing?
Me: Sleeping.
Ryan: Don't tell me Abilene is so boring that you're already in bed at 1:00.
Me: Actually, it is.
Ryan has some bad literary news for me, which is "worth getting out of bed for." He instructs me to hasten to my laptop and pull up Yahoo. I drowsily comply. "Read the first story."
Rowling outs one of her characters
And there it is. Dumbledore. Gay.
I field yet another late night call about 10 minutes later. The Christian-Rowling-reading world is in disarray. For some reason, I'm not losing sleep over the matter, but I have a question or two. Help me, folks. I want some thoughts.
Why feel the need to offer such an arguably shocking statement? Certainly attention and money can be ruled out, right? I mean, you're the wealthiest woman in your whole freaking country, and I'm sure you're never lacking in fanmail or interview requests.
Why do we all need to know Dumbledore's sexual orientation? What bearing has it on the story? If she wished us to know of his preference, why not make it slightly more overt in the text?
What happens to the text when the author adds commentary like this? Is it a bit controlling of Rowling to make sure we know what she intended with Dumbledore's character?
I'm not really even concerned with the moral debate of sexual orientation here.
Paul, Kristina, I'd be interested in your thoughts on the matter if you're reading this.
Phone rings again. Fearing an emergency, I pick it up.
Ryan: Hey man. What are you doing?
Me: Sleeping.
Ryan: Don't tell me Abilene is so boring that you're already in bed at 1:00.
Me: Actually, it is.
Ryan has some bad literary news for me, which is "worth getting out of bed for." He instructs me to hasten to my laptop and pull up Yahoo. I drowsily comply. "Read the first story."
Rowling outs one of her characters
And there it is. Dumbledore. Gay.
I field yet another late night call about 10 minutes later. The Christian-Rowling-reading world is in disarray. For some reason, I'm not losing sleep over the matter, but I have a question or two. Help me, folks. I want some thoughts.
Why feel the need to offer such an arguably shocking statement? Certainly attention and money can be ruled out, right? I mean, you're the wealthiest woman in your whole freaking country, and I'm sure you're never lacking in fanmail or interview requests.
Why do we all need to know Dumbledore's sexual orientation? What bearing has it on the story? If she wished us to know of his preference, why not make it slightly more overt in the text?
What happens to the text when the author adds commentary like this? Is it a bit controlling of Rowling to make sure we know what she intended with Dumbledore's character?
I'm not really even concerned with the moral debate of sexual orientation here.
Paul, Kristina, I'd be interested in your thoughts on the matter if you're reading this.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (graduate school ed.)
The Good:
My tutoring job is going well, and I get to wear this cool lanyard around my neck that has my mugshot attached to it--Brandon Sayre: WRITING CENTER.
I've mastered Hamburger Helper.
The cricket infestation seems to have lapsed with the changing of the season.
My apartment no longer resembles a kennel.
My life is not a Dawson's Creek episode.
Stephen Colbert's book, I am America (And so can you!)
Dr. Rankin's explanations of colloquialisms during class: "I think it has something to do with mothers and copulating..."
The Bad:
There's an Air Force base a few miles from my apartment, so I occasionally wake up under the impression that Abilene is under siege. Still, it's preferable to the fresh small of dog food in the morning, compliments of the Purina plant located a mile or so from OC.
I eat Hamburger Helper.
I can't sleep.
I don't live in Lawrence during our greatest football season since the Glen Mason era.
The fact that Abilene makes Edmond seem a veritable paradise by comparison.
The Ugly:
I live in West Texas. The desolation has yet to endear itself to me.
Learning the price of air conditioning...the hard way.
Texas state pride: "What starts here changes the world."
Euphoria, meet Early Tuesday morning
I awoke at dawn this morning and, despite my greatest efforts, could not recommence my brief slumber. Fearing that I've become my mother (who considers sleeping till 6, sleeping in), I decided to put the kettle on and go about my day.
Sometime whilst the Starbucks Italian Roast brewed, it hit me.
10/16/07 J.E.W. Chase This Light.
After trudging through some 50 pages of writing center pedagogy and theory (and downing two cups of Italian Roast) I dressed and hopped in the Jeep.
Mission: favorite band's latest release retrieval. Initiate retrieval operation! POST HASTE!
I bore the rather dense fog, fully prepared to risk life and limb, en route to Walmart. I made a beeline to the electronics section and there it was, resting on its commerical throne. Only $13.98!!! They roll those prices back, in case you haven't seen the commercials. I would have happily forked over a fifty. God bless you, Wally World.
This is a good day, methinks.
Sometime whilst the Starbucks Italian Roast brewed, it hit me.
10/16/07 J.E.W. Chase This Light.
After trudging through some 50 pages of writing center pedagogy and theory (and downing two cups of Italian Roast) I dressed and hopped in the Jeep.
Mission: favorite band's latest release retrieval. Initiate retrieval operation! POST HASTE!
I bore the rather dense fog, fully prepared to risk life and limb, en route to Walmart. I made a beeline to the electronics section and there it was, resting on its commerical throne. Only $13.98!!! They roll those prices back, in case you haven't seen the commercials. I would have happily forked over a fifty. God bless you, Wally World.
This is a good day, methinks.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Query:
What's the probability that Sunday evening church services were established to enable men to devote their morning/afternoon to football? (And then, as an afterthought, punch their cards at evening assembly)
On a related note, a man in my class this morning brought a newly purchased Sooner gnome to church. I remember when I brought toys to church, too. I was 5.
On a related note, a man in my class this morning brought a newly purchased Sooner gnome to church. I remember when I brought toys to church, too. I was 5.
Monday, October 8, 2007
My Dubious Dudeness
Preface: The following conversation occurred today at Rosa's, where my classmates and I convinced Dr. Rankin to hold today's class. I was wearing a blue Kansas shirt and red KU basketball shorts, which evidently matched rather well.
Heather: I saw you walking earlier today and noticed how well your clothes matched. Pretty rare for a dude!
Sarah: I don't know if I'd say Brandon is really a "dude."
Dr. Rankin (returning from refilling his beverage): What are we talking about?
Me: My dubious dudeness.
Dr. Rankin: I think you're totally a dude.
Robyn: I think your vocabulary disqualifies you.
Me: I think I'm okay with this.
Heather: I saw you walking earlier today and noticed how well your clothes matched. Pretty rare for a dude!
Sarah: I don't know if I'd say Brandon is really a "dude."
Dr. Rankin (returning from refilling his beverage): What are we talking about?
Me: My dubious dudeness.
Dr. Rankin: I think you're totally a dude.
Robyn: I think your vocabulary disqualifies you.
Me: I think I'm okay with this.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Jayhawk progeny
Before I was conceived, I stood no chance. It was as genetically predetermined as any of my features, my ethnicity and my socioeconomic status. I, Brandon Roy Sayre, was to be a Kansas Jayhawk.
In attempt to uncover the derivative of this allegiance, I need look no further than family genealogy. My father received his Bachelor's in Business from the University of Kansas. Three of my four uncles attended KU. My Uncle Jason, who became a sort of childhood idol to me, was a KU yell-leader. I remember seeing pictures of him in his college years: sporting the then-fashionable crewcut and hoisting blond bombshells over his head, needing only a single hand to do so.
Sometime during my teens, I learned the true derivative of the Jayhawk faith. My late grandfather Roy attended his first Jayhawk basketball game in 1972 when KU hosted the Missouri Tigers. Though having no previous ties to the university, the atmosphere and tradition of Allen Fieldhouse (along with Bud Stallworth's 50 points) evidently made a believer of him. Roy Sinclair hence became the progenitor of his family's sports allegiance.
The funny thing about it was, to my recollection, my uncles & grandfather never even had to proselytize. I remember being utterly mesmerized by their behavior during basketball and football games: the emotion, the volatility, the pacing, the occasional breaking of a toy over the knee. As a famous country singer said, "I liked it, I loved it, I wanted some more of it" (of course, he didn't sing it with the past-tense).
As the steadfastness of my vicarious existence abounded to greater and more irrational heights, so did my distaste for the two (apparently) morally reprensible rivals. K-State, affectionally referred to by some of our ilk as KSUCK, our in-state and more agriculturally savvy rivals, and our mortal enemies: the Missouri Tigers. The hatred between Kansas and Missouri is astonishing, and I discovered that the mutual distaste actually finds its roots in the Civil War free state/slave state tension. The events of August 21, 1863 remain the foremost source of the border bitterness. This date marked the sacking of Lawrence, KS by William C. Quantrill and his band of Bushwackers. Per Wikipedia, "Arriving at the summit of Mount Oread and leading between three and four hundred riders, Quantrill descended on Lawrence in a fury. A four-hour session of pillaging, systematic execution of most of the male population, arson, and other mayhem ensued. By the time Quantrill's men rode out of town, one in four buildings in Lawrence had been burnt to the ground, including all but two businesses." Check out this classy Missourian (in case you can't read his hat, it bears the words "Remember Quantrill"):
Whenever a Missouri fan musters the gall to post on Phog.net, a KU message board I read with too much frequency, the ubiqitous response is "suck it, slaver." I remember, as a child, visiting Silver Dollar City in Branson, Missouri with my family. While awaiting a roller-coaster ride, one of the men facilitating the ride discovered that there were Kansans in his presence. "I thought I smelled somethin!" he crowed.
Something I've realized is that I could easily shed my allegiance. It took me one score and three years to discover it, but it's actually within my strength to make a concerted effort to lessen the fervor of my vicarious existence (I tell myself I will do this very thing each year...typically following a premature upending in the NCAA tournament). I want to emphasize that the existence is indeed of the vicarious nature: I have virtually no connection to any of the Kansas players and coaches...though, for whatever reason, I refer to them often by first name (e.g. "Oh come on, Julian! Dunk the stupid ball!").
I've often been chided for the anti-scholastic nature of my affiliation. I've also realized, in my objective moments, that my fanship provides no practical benefit to my life or to the University of Kansas. By the way, the word "fan" in Italian is tifoso as noted by Elizabeth Gilbert in her memoir Eat Pray Love, "Derived from the word for typhus. In other words--one who is mightily fevered." Food for thought. I'm not an Alum or Donor...and a Kansas victory does not necessarily improve my life in any measurable fashion. In fact, sports tend to make me even more irrational than women do...which is no small statement.
But here I sit today, resting delightedly on the laurels of yesterday's victory over Kansas State. The win propelled our team into the the top 25 for the first time since 1996, also marking our (note the possesive pronoun) first win in Manhattan in some 18 years. Needless to say, I'm sporting a rather broad grin today, a grin that magically makes all the irrationality and idiocy of being a serious sports fan worthwhile.
I suppose I've come to the conclusion that not everything we do/enjoy in life is even remotely rational, and I think I'm quite okay with that.
Kansas--30
Kansas State--24
Lift the Chorus ever onward,
Crimson and the Blue
In attempt to uncover the derivative of this allegiance, I need look no further than family genealogy. My father received his Bachelor's in Business from the University of Kansas. Three of my four uncles attended KU. My Uncle Jason, who became a sort of childhood idol to me, was a KU yell-leader. I remember seeing pictures of him in his college years: sporting the then-fashionable crewcut and hoisting blond bombshells over his head, needing only a single hand to do so.
Sometime during my teens, I learned the true derivative of the Jayhawk faith. My late grandfather Roy attended his first Jayhawk basketball game in 1972 when KU hosted the Missouri Tigers. Though having no previous ties to the university, the atmosphere and tradition of Allen Fieldhouse (along with Bud Stallworth's 50 points) evidently made a believer of him. Roy Sinclair hence became the progenitor of his family's sports allegiance.
The funny thing about it was, to my recollection, my uncles & grandfather never even had to proselytize. I remember being utterly mesmerized by their behavior during basketball and football games: the emotion, the volatility, the pacing, the occasional breaking of a toy over the knee. As a famous country singer said, "I liked it, I loved it, I wanted some more of it" (of course, he didn't sing it with the past-tense).
As the steadfastness of my vicarious existence abounded to greater and more irrational heights, so did my distaste for the two (apparently) morally reprensible rivals. K-State, affectionally referred to by some of our ilk as KSUCK, our in-state and more agriculturally savvy rivals, and our mortal enemies: the Missouri Tigers. The hatred between Kansas and Missouri is astonishing, and I discovered that the mutual distaste actually finds its roots in the Civil War free state/slave state tension. The events of August 21, 1863 remain the foremost source of the border bitterness. This date marked the sacking of Lawrence, KS by William C. Quantrill and his band of Bushwackers. Per Wikipedia, "Arriving at the summit of Mount Oread and leading between three and four hundred riders, Quantrill descended on Lawrence in a fury. A four-hour session of pillaging, systematic execution of most of the male population, arson, and other mayhem ensued. By the time Quantrill's men rode out of town, one in four buildings in Lawrence had been burnt to the ground, including all but two businesses." Check out this classy Missourian (in case you can't read his hat, it bears the words "Remember Quantrill"):
Whenever a Missouri fan musters the gall to post on Phog.net, a KU message board I read with too much frequency, the ubiqitous response is "suck it, slaver." I remember, as a child, visiting Silver Dollar City in Branson, Missouri with my family. While awaiting a roller-coaster ride, one of the men facilitating the ride discovered that there were Kansans in his presence. "I thought I smelled somethin!" he crowed.
Something I've realized is that I could easily shed my allegiance. It took me one score and three years to discover it, but it's actually within my strength to make a concerted effort to lessen the fervor of my vicarious existence (I tell myself I will do this very thing each year...typically following a premature upending in the NCAA tournament). I want to emphasize that the existence is indeed of the vicarious nature: I have virtually no connection to any of the Kansas players and coaches...though, for whatever reason, I refer to them often by first name (e.g. "Oh come on, Julian! Dunk the stupid ball!").
I've often been chided for the anti-scholastic nature of my affiliation. I've also realized, in my objective moments, that my fanship provides no practical benefit to my life or to the University of Kansas. By the way, the word "fan" in Italian is tifoso as noted by Elizabeth Gilbert in her memoir Eat Pray Love, "Derived from the word for typhus. In other words--one who is mightily fevered." Food for thought. I'm not an Alum or Donor...and a Kansas victory does not necessarily improve my life in any measurable fashion. In fact, sports tend to make me even more irrational than women do...which is no small statement.
But here I sit today, resting delightedly on the laurels of yesterday's victory over Kansas State. The win propelled our team into the the top 25 for the first time since 1996, also marking our (note the possesive pronoun) first win in Manhattan in some 18 years. Needless to say, I'm sporting a rather broad grin today, a grin that magically makes all the irrationality and idiocy of being a serious sports fan worthwhile.
I suppose I've come to the conclusion that not everything we do/enjoy in life is even remotely rational, and I think I'm quite okay with that.
Kansas--30
Kansas State--24
Lift the Chorus ever onward,
Crimson and the Blue
While on my way to retrieve quarters from my Jeep...
I chanced upon an amusing scene.
I opened my door and, looking up, caught the glimpse of girl bearing what appeared to be a 12 pack of Coors Light as she ascended the staircase.
Not thinking much of it, I proceeded to walk toward my Jeep. I heard her open the door. The sight of this girl toting said ethanol was met be a chorus of all-male cheers from the interior of the apartment.
I laughed.
I opened my door and, looking up, caught the glimpse of girl bearing what appeared to be a 12 pack of Coors Light as she ascended the staircase.
Not thinking much of it, I proceeded to walk toward my Jeep. I heard her open the door. The sight of this girl toting said ethanol was met be a chorus of all-male cheers from the interior of the apartment.
I laughed.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Why October kicketh butt
Sunflower Showdown: 10/6/07
Late Night in the Phog: 10/12/07
Jimmy Eat World: Chase This Light 10/16/07Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Found this gem in my Comp/Rhet book...
and couldn't resist. Read it.
"The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is one hell of a spectacular epic despite consisting mostly of guys in medieval armor running around scenic vistas, smashing, thrashing, and flinging arrows into each other with effortless skill. Don't these warriors ever get tired?
So the Fellowship has been broken and our heroes travel their separate ways. Otherwise, not too much has changed. Aragorn is still brave and unshaven, the Dark Lord Sauron is still brewing trouble, and Liv Tyler still speaks in a breathy monotone.
Since the first chapter in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, the evil wizard Saruman continues to build his army of disgusting, mindless creatures using his magical powers, his crystal ball of fear, and the biggest nose in all of Middle-Earth. If this world conquest thing doesn't work out, confides Saruman, I could always be the new Toucan on the Froot Loops box.
Come on, is that Saruman's real nose or are his eyes using a walking stick? There will be no dawn for men, he drones. And no spare Kleenex either!
Now I see why we didn't get a better look at one of the Ring's previous owners, Gollum, in the first movie. He's Steve Buscemi in a loincloth!
Hobbits Merry and Pippin meet up with a new character, Treebeard....
Treebeard is an Ent--a race of walking, talking trees. He looks like a towering Sideshow Bob with a bad case of Dermatitis. Treebeard is the oldest being in Middle-Earth, but only because of Joan Rivers lies.
And then there's Gimli the Dwarf who offers war-torn refugees some comic relief. Today he kills twice nightly at Caesars Atlantic City. He's one Brooke Shields shorts of a USO show.
Gimli and Treebeard sound suspiciously alike, suggesting that while Orcs may be abundant in Middle-Earth, voice talent is not.
The time of the Elves is nearly over, warns the Elf leader. Soon, there will be no one to bake the Keeblers....
Elsewhere in Middle-Earth...."There!" exclaimed Frodo, "It's the tower of Sauron." What gave it away? The enormous rabbit-ears on top with a vast EYE in the center? So the Dark Lord gets CBS! You'd think he'd be early on DIRECTV.
Say, if the Dark Lord was really all that powerful, wouldn't he invent a gun?
The good wizard Gandalf returns from what we thought was the dead, but what turned out to be the deepest hole there ever was. Now resurrected, Gandalf the Grey is Gandalf the White. But Gandalf, plum or periwinkle would coordinate better with your coloring, noted helpful Elf Legolas. When Gandalf mounts his trusty steed, it's off-camera for two hours until his triumphant return.
So our heroes speed towards their destination, the place where The Ring must meet its end before our friends do: The fires of Mount Doom...
Say what you want about sequels, but this one is worth its weight in gold. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is a towering, stupendous achievement.
Maybe the trilogy is like an Oreo cookie: The middle might be the best part."
(Mark Ramsey, moviejuice.com December 11, 2002)
"The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is one hell of a spectacular epic despite consisting mostly of guys in medieval armor running around scenic vistas, smashing, thrashing, and flinging arrows into each other with effortless skill. Don't these warriors ever get tired?
So the Fellowship has been broken and our heroes travel their separate ways. Otherwise, not too much has changed. Aragorn is still brave and unshaven, the Dark Lord Sauron is still brewing trouble, and Liv Tyler still speaks in a breathy monotone.
Since the first chapter in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, the evil wizard Saruman continues to build his army of disgusting, mindless creatures using his magical powers, his crystal ball of fear, and the biggest nose in all of Middle-Earth. If this world conquest thing doesn't work out, confides Saruman, I could always be the new Toucan on the Froot Loops box.
Come on, is that Saruman's real nose or are his eyes using a walking stick? There will be no dawn for men, he drones. And no spare Kleenex either!
Now I see why we didn't get a better look at one of the Ring's previous owners, Gollum, in the first movie. He's Steve Buscemi in a loincloth!
Hobbits Merry and Pippin meet up with a new character, Treebeard....
Treebeard is an Ent--a race of walking, talking trees. He looks like a towering Sideshow Bob with a bad case of Dermatitis. Treebeard is the oldest being in Middle-Earth, but only because of Joan Rivers lies.
And then there's Gimli the Dwarf who offers war-torn refugees some comic relief. Today he kills twice nightly at Caesars Atlantic City. He's one Brooke Shields shorts of a USO show.
Gimli and Treebeard sound suspiciously alike, suggesting that while Orcs may be abundant in Middle-Earth, voice talent is not.
The time of the Elves is nearly over, warns the Elf leader. Soon, there will be no one to bake the Keeblers....
Elsewhere in Middle-Earth...."There!" exclaimed Frodo, "It's the tower of Sauron." What gave it away? The enormous rabbit-ears on top with a vast EYE in the center? So the Dark Lord gets CBS! You'd think he'd be early on DIRECTV.
Say, if the Dark Lord was really all that powerful, wouldn't he invent a gun?
The good wizard Gandalf returns from what we thought was the dead, but what turned out to be the deepest hole there ever was. Now resurrected, Gandalf the Grey is Gandalf the White. But Gandalf, plum or periwinkle would coordinate better with your coloring, noted helpful Elf Legolas. When Gandalf mounts his trusty steed, it's off-camera for two hours until his triumphant return.
So our heroes speed towards their destination, the place where The Ring must meet its end before our friends do: The fires of Mount Doom...
Say what you want about sequels, but this one is worth its weight in gold. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is a towering, stupendous achievement.
Maybe the trilogy is like an Oreo cookie: The middle might be the best part."
(Mark Ramsey, moviejuice.com December 11, 2002)
Monday, October 1, 2007
Week 6
Evidently I'm not appeasing the masses with my sporadic posting. HERE:
I find myself, all of the sudden, in the midst of Week 6. I'm a third of the way through the semester. My love for graduate school abounds with each turn of the page and each sip of freshly brewed Starbucks (I had four cups this morning, a full cup above average).
Literary theory is rocking my world. I am intrigued by the study of power dynamics and hierarchies that attempt to pass themselves off as "natural." I'm a bit embarrassed to have been such an unwitting, complicit sheep in these constructions before delving into our Lit. Theory anthology. This class necessitates adopting an intellectual humility, which I think bears some valid applications to our spirituality. I would be happy to elaborate, but I promised Brain a reprieve. The Dude is rather worn out, understandably. If you'd like to make an appointment, he'll be in at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.
I still enjoy Truth in Nonfiction as well, though it's interesting how much nihilism can pervade the discussion at times. I'm not really bothered by it, but it's suprising that so many people subscribe completely to social constructionism and scoff at essentialism. I am bothered by the notion that nonficton apparently MUST be dark and hopeless to accurately reflect reality and be taken seriously. Rarely a dull moment in that class.
If you'll permit me to alter course a bit here, I'd like to regale you with a conversation I had with my fellow grad students last week. After realizing our 9:00 had been canceled, we decided to go to breakfast. They are all female, so as per usual, I endured some good natured jeering. Evidently someone had stumbled upon some questionable Facebook pictures of mine involving kilts and suggestive homo-erotic poses. *Removing tag* Anyway...
Somehow, I think we were talking about chivalry or some such nonsense (read with intended irony) and I am proud to have learned a thing or two concerning flower-giving etiquette.
Roses, evidently, are an epic cop-out flower. Too cliche.
Chrysanthemums are also a no-no. Why? I can't remember. Wasn't really paying attention...
Carnations are disgusting. Might as well give them a flamming bag of excrement, I suppose.
I heeded the words of the eldest (she's only 27) and married member of the group, who lauded the Star Gazer Lily. Quite lovely, indeed.
For some reason, all of this was relayed by my peers to our professor today before class. He recommends the Corpse flower, which is reminiscent of the smell of a decomposing mammal, due to its fragrance. It's also known as the carrion flower.
I walked away feeling rather empowered by the knowledge. Flowers: man's power to make women either swoon or vomit.
I find myself, all of the sudden, in the midst of Week 6. I'm a third of the way through the semester. My love for graduate school abounds with each turn of the page and each sip of freshly brewed Starbucks (I had four cups this morning, a full cup above average).
Literary theory is rocking my world. I am intrigued by the study of power dynamics and hierarchies that attempt to pass themselves off as "natural." I'm a bit embarrassed to have been such an unwitting, complicit sheep in these constructions before delving into our Lit. Theory anthology. This class necessitates adopting an intellectual humility, which I think bears some valid applications to our spirituality. I would be happy to elaborate, but I promised Brain a reprieve. The Dude is rather worn out, understandably. If you'd like to make an appointment, he'll be in at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.
I still enjoy Truth in Nonfiction as well, though it's interesting how much nihilism can pervade the discussion at times. I'm not really bothered by it, but it's suprising that so many people subscribe completely to social constructionism and scoff at essentialism. I am bothered by the notion that nonficton apparently MUST be dark and hopeless to accurately reflect reality and be taken seriously. Rarely a dull moment in that class.
If you'll permit me to alter course a bit here, I'd like to regale you with a conversation I had with my fellow grad students last week. After realizing our 9:00 had been canceled, we decided to go to breakfast. They are all female, so as per usual, I endured some good natured jeering. Evidently someone had stumbled upon some questionable Facebook pictures of mine involving kilts and suggestive homo-erotic poses. *Removing tag* Anyway...
Somehow, I think we were talking about chivalry or some such nonsense (read with intended irony) and I am proud to have learned a thing or two concerning flower-giving etiquette.
Roses, evidently, are an epic cop-out flower. Too cliche.
Chrysanthemums are also a no-no. Why? I can't remember. Wasn't really paying attention...
Carnations are disgusting. Might as well give them a flamming bag of excrement, I suppose.
I heeded the words of the eldest (she's only 27) and married member of the group, who lauded the Star Gazer Lily. Quite lovely, indeed.
For some reason, all of this was relayed by my peers to our professor today before class. He recommends the Corpse flower, which is reminiscent of the smell of a decomposing mammal, due to its fragrance. It's also known as the carrion flower.
I walked away feeling rather empowered by the knowledge. Flowers: man's power to make women either swoon or vomit.
Lo, the phallic Corpse flower.
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