Technically today marks the start of the third week of college. I say technically because while it is a Monday and the start of a new week, we have school off for Columbus Day. I have no idea why it's an actual holiday, we don't give any presents to loved ones and there's no grand moral to be had (ex: Thanksgiving = giving thanks [gee, that was hard to figure out]). Some guy kinda sorta discovered America. And he gets a holiday? I don't recall a Nikola Tesla Day or Thomas Edison Day, or shoot even a Sir Isaac Newton Day. I think it's extremely unfair, but alas, I am grateful for not having to go to school today. Wednesday when everyone asks each other, "What did you do over the weekend?" I'll get to sarcastically say with a perky little smile, "I contracted bronchitis! How was your weekend?"
My poor aching, burning lungs. Not to mention I look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I must say though, my bronchitis had impeccable timing. I got sick on a 3-day weekend not to mention I have no class on Friday (when I got it) or Tuesday. I did not get sick in the middle of a very busy school week. So I have to give it props for that.
It's mildly ironic; my brother felt sick last week (it lasted a day for him the lucky duck) and was concerned about getting everyone else sick. I arrogantly said he wouldn't get me sick and it's like the illness said, "Challenge accepted." It promptly abandoned him and attacked me a few days later. At least I'm on the mend, so I should be able to go to class (cross your fingers folks!).
And here endeth the shortest blog post I have ever composed.
Until next time this is the Amazon Artiste signing off.
October 8, 2012
September 30, 2012
From the Shelf - Franz Kafka
On the first day of class we were asked what makes a story memorable and what makes it worth reading. These kinds of questions are often difficult to answer, because the answer more often than not depends upon one's opinions or experiences with the stories they've read. One person may say a story is memorable if the characters were relatable and had attributes that were applicable to one's own life. That's the case for me every time I read R.A. Salvatore's novels pertaining to his character Drizzt Do'Urden. I can relate to this character and wish to embody many of his characteristics as they would make me a better person if I did so. For some, the worth in the story is in its themes which are usually many or a single grand one. Herman Melville once stated, "To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it."
Franz Kafka's short story "In the Penal Colony" had many themes and was indeed a memorable read, but it is worth less than a handful of dirt. I understand that to be a well-educated person in the literary realm one must read at least one piece by Kafka. He is after all considered a literary great, but a well written monstrosity is still a monstrosity. I had been warned of the violence of this particular story, but I was surprised to find that it was not violent through the use of action like a movie would be. "In the Penal Colony" is violent in the very nature of the story itself, the ideas which are embedded in the myriad themes, are they themselves the agents of violence. The most evident theme, which I'm sure was the primary one, is that of justice or the contortion thereof. The "villain" of the story, the Officer (none of the characters had real names), is the purveyor of a so-called justice within the colony. The "hero" is to be found in a lone Traveler who slowly recognizes that the Officer is in fact the purveyor of injustice through torturous murder.
The colony has a flawed judicial system; no trial, no jury, no defense. Any infraction, no matter how minor it be, is punishable by execution. The Officer declares those in question to be guilty, writes up the sentence for the now condemned, and then performs as well as presides over the execution. The execution is applied through a machine, an apparatus, that etches the sentence in a script (probably a fanciful one for more effect) onto the flesh of the condemned by way of needles for twelve hours. The Officer is completely dyspathic towards the condemned and is rather a bit of a sadist as he takes great pride in this apparatus and great pleasure in watching the execution being performed. This flawed system of guilty-with-no-trial is representative of a totalitarian judicial system. I cannot think of anyone who would willingly accept this system much less live under it, so I think it's pretty safe to say, no one wants a system like that. The system is not one of justice but one of a cruel, torturous murder to men who more often than not were probably guilty of nothing more than falling asleep on the job.
This particular piece was striving to make a point of how horrible a totalitarian judicial system is, in fact a totalitarian system of any kind in any branch of life is a bad idea. That was the grand theme of this "volume" so Kafka obeyed Melville in that regard. But the grand theme (this grand idea) was no match for the moral depravity that presided within the structure of this piece (structure being characters, plot, setting, etc.). What made this story worthy of the claim "morally deprived?" To make ones readers feel no more emotion other than a sickening sorrow and a fear of death at the hands of an unjust judge is wrong. To write and further publish a story that leaves your audience sitting traumatized in an emotionally drained state is cruel.
The worth should have been in the masterfully crafted exposé of what a totalitarian judicial system is. However, this was clouded by the failure to present a clear solution to the problem. We've all heard the phrase "if you aren't a part of the solution you're a part of the problem." Well Kafka deftly pointed out the problem, but he forgot to mention an escape clause for those poor, unfortunate souls we call characters. The reader is left not with a feeling of relief for the characters, but a feeling of dread as they continue to live in the unjust penal colony. The only relief to be found is when the Officer dies by the very machine he commands, and the Traveler gets to leave, but he leaves the colony in a state of disarray (the original condemned man is free from execution but is left to fend for himself amidst a riot of the penal colony's residents). How is this a solution or even a happy ending?
At no point is it acceptable for traumatization to be written and considered worthy of publication. As this phrase states, "some things are best left unsaid" so to are some things best left unwritten and unpublished.
Franz Kafka's short story "In the Penal Colony" had many themes and was indeed a memorable read, but it is worth less than a handful of dirt. I understand that to be a well-educated person in the literary realm one must read at least one piece by Kafka. He is after all considered a literary great, but a well written monstrosity is still a monstrosity. I had been warned of the violence of this particular story, but I was surprised to find that it was not violent through the use of action like a movie would be. "In the Penal Colony" is violent in the very nature of the story itself, the ideas which are embedded in the myriad themes, are they themselves the agents of violence. The most evident theme, which I'm sure was the primary one, is that of justice or the contortion thereof. The "villain" of the story, the Officer (none of the characters had real names), is the purveyor of a so-called justice within the colony. The "hero" is to be found in a lone Traveler who slowly recognizes that the Officer is in fact the purveyor of injustice through torturous murder.
The colony has a flawed judicial system; no trial, no jury, no defense. Any infraction, no matter how minor it be, is punishable by execution. The Officer declares those in question to be guilty, writes up the sentence for the now condemned, and then performs as well as presides over the execution. The execution is applied through a machine, an apparatus, that etches the sentence in a script (probably a fanciful one for more effect) onto the flesh of the condemned by way of needles for twelve hours. The Officer is completely dyspathic towards the condemned and is rather a bit of a sadist as he takes great pride in this apparatus and great pleasure in watching the execution being performed. This flawed system of guilty-with-no-trial is representative of a totalitarian judicial system. I cannot think of anyone who would willingly accept this system much less live under it, so I think it's pretty safe to say, no one wants a system like that. The system is not one of justice but one of a cruel, torturous murder to men who more often than not were probably guilty of nothing more than falling asleep on the job.
This particular piece was striving to make a point of how horrible a totalitarian judicial system is, in fact a totalitarian system of any kind in any branch of life is a bad idea. That was the grand theme of this "volume" so Kafka obeyed Melville in that regard. But the grand theme (this grand idea) was no match for the moral depravity that presided within the structure of this piece (structure being characters, plot, setting, etc.). What made this story worthy of the claim "morally deprived?" To make ones readers feel no more emotion other than a sickening sorrow and a fear of death at the hands of an unjust judge is wrong. To write and further publish a story that leaves your audience sitting traumatized in an emotionally drained state is cruel.
The worth should have been in the masterfully crafted exposé of what a totalitarian judicial system is. However, this was clouded by the failure to present a clear solution to the problem. We've all heard the phrase "if you aren't a part of the solution you're a part of the problem." Well Kafka deftly pointed out the problem, but he forgot to mention an escape clause for those poor, unfortunate souls we call characters. The reader is left not with a feeling of relief for the characters, but a feeling of dread as they continue to live in the unjust penal colony. The only relief to be found is when the Officer dies by the very machine he commands, and the Traveler gets to leave, but he leaves the colony in a state of disarray (the original condemned man is free from execution but is left to fend for himself amidst a riot of the penal colony's residents). How is this a solution or even a happy ending?
At no point is it acceptable for traumatization to be written and considered worthy of publication. As this phrase states, "some things are best left unsaid" so to are some things best left unwritten and unpublished.
September 29, 2012
Out of the Closet, Into the Hamper
"What woman doesn't like shoes?" ~ Stacy London
Ballet Flats
Here's a close-up so you can see the fun sequins:
These are the shoes I wear on a daily basis. Most people don't enjoy standing next to an Amazon in heels sadly.
September 25, 2012
Saved by the Bell
As I stated much earlier today (there isn't much of that left is there?) college has started afresh. I have class on Mondays and Wednesdays, which leaves Tuesdays open for loads of homework. And I did have loads. Besides reading two chapters from a book I hated the first time I took the class, I also had to read 3 shorts from Isaak Babel, an author I do not admire. Now, that doesn't seem like loads of homework and for the average student it's probably like sitting down and reading a standard textbook. For your average smart student it's a walk in the park.
I am neither of those kinds of students and I'm certainly not average. Being a unique reader and working around crippling dyslexia is not an easy feat, but it's one I've cultured for the past 5 years. So, it took me the entire day to get one precisely one chapter done. I've read one of the Babel shorts before and remember it quite well. I cannot stand his work, so I'm not going to cram his other two tonight because he's not worth it. I will read them at my leisure tomorrow before class.
As for the two chapters I was supposed to have done. The text is "Reading Like a Writer" by Francine Prose. Not only did I write in the book but I wrote on the book. That's right, I have written notes on the front and back covers of the book. None of them nice comments either, I decided to give my own reviews next to the ones printed on the covers. I hated Prose back when I first took the class. I believe I stated in my essay then that she "truly makes watching paint dry look like an aggressive spectator sport." I remembered her writing as being dull and boring and very hard to get through because of that. I figured after three years and learning how to read more critically, I would probably enjoy her work now.
I was wrong. If anything, I hate her work even more. She is as dull and boring as ever if not more so. Last time I read her book I didn't put any notes int he margins, or cross out bits I disagreed with, or anything like that. This time round I had a blast writing all over it! When my camera has a living battery again, I will take pictures to show you just how much fun I had fixing her text. She had taken what was supposed to be a fun day of reading and taking notes into a bore-fest where I smacked my head more than once against my desk and deeply wished to play reverse-Russian-roulette (where all but one cartridge is full of bullets). That's how awful my day has been.
I revised my paint statement from three years ago. Here's the revision: "I understand that Prose is trying to incite passion into a reader's soul when the partake in the art of reading. Unfortunately, in this particular reader, she not only sucked away that passion but instilled a strong desire to run smiling into the open arms of death, so that this reader may be spared from the dull ramblings of a woman whose craft has taken the act of watching paint dry and turned it into a lively spectator sport worthy of the Olympics." That's how boring she is.
I have to have to other chapter finished before class so that I'm not left behind in the class discussions. Seeing how I have four hours to kill, I don't see how that'll be a problem. Today I tried to be critical and take thorough notes. Tomorrow, I'm just breezing through Prose and Babel. Can't wait to take on Gardner. He's a jackass but at least he isn't a bore.
Until next time this is the Amazon Artiste signing off.
I am neither of those kinds of students and I'm certainly not average. Being a unique reader and working around crippling dyslexia is not an easy feat, but it's one I've cultured for the past 5 years. So, it took me the entire day to get one precisely one chapter done. I've read one of the Babel shorts before and remember it quite well. I cannot stand his work, so I'm not going to cram his other two tonight because he's not worth it. I will read them at my leisure tomorrow before class.
As for the two chapters I was supposed to have done. The text is "Reading Like a Writer" by Francine Prose. Not only did I write in the book but I wrote on the book. That's right, I have written notes on the front and back covers of the book. None of them nice comments either, I decided to give my own reviews next to the ones printed on the covers. I hated Prose back when I first took the class. I believe I stated in my essay then that she "truly makes watching paint dry look like an aggressive spectator sport." I remembered her writing as being dull and boring and very hard to get through because of that. I figured after three years and learning how to read more critically, I would probably enjoy her work now.
I was wrong. If anything, I hate her work even more. She is as dull and boring as ever if not more so. Last time I read her book I didn't put any notes int he margins, or cross out bits I disagreed with, or anything like that. This time round I had a blast writing all over it! When my camera has a living battery again, I will take pictures to show you just how much fun I had fixing her text. She had taken what was supposed to be a fun day of reading and taking notes into a bore-fest where I smacked my head more than once against my desk and deeply wished to play reverse-Russian-roulette (where all but one cartridge is full of bullets). That's how awful my day has been.
I revised my paint statement from three years ago. Here's the revision: "I understand that Prose is trying to incite passion into a reader's soul when the partake in the art of reading. Unfortunately, in this particular reader, she not only sucked away that passion but instilled a strong desire to run smiling into the open arms of death, so that this reader may be spared from the dull ramblings of a woman whose craft has taken the act of watching paint dry and turned it into a lively spectator sport worthy of the Olympics." That's how boring she is.
I have to have to other chapter finished before class so that I'm not left behind in the class discussions. Seeing how I have four hours to kill, I don't see how that'll be a problem. Today I tried to be critical and take thorough notes. Tomorrow, I'm just breezing through Prose and Babel. Can't wait to take on Gardner. He's a jackass but at least he isn't a bore.
Until next time this is the Amazon Artiste signing off.
Rewind: First Day
Yesterday (Monday the 24th) was the first day of a brand new year in college. I am perhaps one of the slowest moving college students currently alive. I started my college career (and given how long I've been in college, career is an apt word) way back in the fall of 2008. It is now the fall of 2012. Yup, if you calculated it properly you'd come to 5 years of college. And yet, no degree to show for any of it. I've changed my major at least 20 times, flunked a half dozen classes, been placed on academic probation two or three times, and have missed entire quarters (in Washington we use quarters not semesters. So it's three quarters for an academic year, unless you're a smart student and then you do summer quarter as well) due to lack of financing. Well, none of that has clearly stopped me altogether from pursuing a degree.
As luck would have it, I'm still in that college-age group of students. So no one can tell that I've been in school for 5 bleeding years, seemingly stagnating in the rut of higher education. I intend to stomp that stagnation into oblivion this quarter. Turns out I'm over halfway through to a degree (finally!) and if I do well in this class, I get another one for Christmas (my parents awesome way of helping me achieve my degree). Now for that first day.
I had meticulously chosen a class that goes toward my degree, fulfills that final Humanities requirement, and is late enough in the day that I can sleep in on the mornings. Well screw that. My brother had chosen classes that require me to wake up at 7 in the morning. That seems normal to most people, but here in this homeschooled family, we're used to getting up at 9 or 10. I grudgingly got out of bed around 7:10 and attempted to put together an outfit. I had planned on doing it the night before, but I got distracted with cleaning my room, organizing my desk for the impending mounds of homework, and putting together my backpack in that way that we women have (you know that way, the one where we have to take our entire house in our bags). I actually managed to pack my bags in the most unwomanly way possible. The duct tape is even staying home (I always carry a roll with me just in case).
I ate breakfast, reminded my brother to grab his trail mix that I had promptly made the night before, and headed out the warm door to the very chilly outside. By the time we made it to campus, it was sunny and warming up (but not fast enough, so I still had to wear my coat all day). There was a benefit to having arrived on campus before 9 o'clock: plenty of parking spaces! This has been an issue in the past, particularly for this school. They built a new parking lot the year I wasn't here and it pushed back ultimate fill-up time an hour, so the parking lots are crammed shut with vehicles by 9:30 instead of 8-8:30. I no longer have to worry about parking, which is a serious time saver.
My brother and I decided to cut through the student center to see how it's changed since last we attended here (we both transferred to a junior college in the city as opposed to our navy town junior college. The city one didn't work as planned so we're back to the navy town). He only had 10 minutes before his first class so he popped in, said hello to some familiar faces, then ducked out as quickly as possible. My first and only class didn't start until 1:00 in the afternoon, which gave me 4 hours to kill (twice a week!). So I was able to soak in the new layout of the center, see who was still around, and become familiar with some new faces.
The student center's primary layout is still the same. There's the front of the building with it's walls of glass that have doors hidden in them (my mother had the hilarious experience of walking towards what she thought was a door, but turned out to be a window. I was the only one who laughed at her, but students were smiling and shaking their heads). Once through the difficult-to-see-doors, you're standing in a spacious lobby. Off to the left is the bookstore, to the right is the cafeteria. Continue along the right to the back and you get the food area (it's neither a cafe or a restaurant. It's like a stadium really, different foodies offered and ordered at different stations, but you pay at the same cash register). While still standing in the lobby, straight ahead are the back doors that lead to one of the parking lots and back passages to the Physical Education building.
Keep standing in the lobby. Continue on now with the left to the back and you get the Student Lounge. It used to have a very unkind nickname that I can't for the life of me remember. The lounge is where the stagnating or failing students hang out. Some of them do indeed finish college with a degree, but the majority of them fester away in that lounge. The lounge is home to vulgarity of every kind, intense magic the gathering play, anime addicts, druggies, computer junkies, and poorly dressed persons. It is frequently the loudest part of the center and the uncleanliest. Here you may find your hicks, slobs, sluts, and general losers at life. This isn't to say everyone who hangs out there falls into any of those categories, but it is often the case. I know many people who were good students who hung out there because that's where all their friends went, and before the quarter was out they had fallen victim to it, and were no longer good students nor savory characters.
It is often a dingy, low-lit, crowded area where seating is hard to find, and women often sit on the laps of men (which is kind of cute if you're dating the guy and there really isn't anywhere to sit. Any other time, it's flat out creepy), not to mention there are never enough tables to do anything (in the case of the loungers play cards, in the case of students study-time). Well, this year they fixed it substantially though the student body has not. The carpet has been replaced with something much brighter. They either removed or rearranged the lounge chairs so that they now have a half dozen or so tables with normal chairs. Now students can sit and easily play games or if they're smart, study! The students however have gotten louder and more vulgar.
I will not be visiting the lounge again.
I headed to the back of the building after many hours wasted watching over bags, being reacquainted with people that I will never take home to my parents, and wondering why these students even bother speaking English at all if they purposefully choose to limit their vocabulary to words of crudity, vulgarity and sheer stupidity. And I don't care who you are or where you come from, jokes of sex and rape are never funny, especially the latter. I also apparently got roped into some bullying forum thing where they discuss both sides of bullying. I'm fine with talking about my experiences with bullying, so long as it's a one-time shot. I'm not joining a club for it, and I'm not spending any amount of time on it. I'm here for an education in my field, not to promote anti-bullying (seriously, if you want to prevent bullying don't partake in it and teach your kids not to do it).
Anyway, I headed back to the MCR (multi-cultural room) which is considerably cleaner and quieter. Not to mention Jodi makes sure there is no vulgarity of any sort within the confines of the MCR. All the smart kids come here or head over to the library. The MCR is home to the international students, and it's home to where I did a lot of tutoring. I saw a few familiar faces and a lot of new ones. The familiar faces actually remembered me and seemed happy to see me (don't know if it was genuine or they were just being nice, either way I appreciated it). Then I saw Jodi, who totally remembered me and gave me a hug. Before I ran off to class, she said she was happy to see everybody (I guess she was just coming into the office) and especially to see me. That made my day. I was so happy, that someone actually cared that I was back in school.
I went to class with a smile on my face and a happiness in my heart that is still there. The class I am taking is a creative writing course that is split into two sections: short story & long narrative. I took the short story 3 years ago so this time round I'm shooting for the long narrative (which I struggle with). I am taking the course from the same professor as last time, Prof. Ian Sherman. This guy is oozing with personality and is a theatrical lecturer which makes it impossible to fall asleep in his class, not that I'd want to sleep in his class anyway. The texts are still the same so I didn't need to go and buy new ones. Hallelujah!
I don't know why but the class is held in the business building, but the room is bigger than when it was in the engineering building. Maybe in another three years they'll finally place creative writing in the same building as all the other English classes, or it'll end up in shop. (facepalm anyone?) Well, Prof. Sherman doesn't disappoint. He's just as fun & funny as he was three years ago, and still just as bad with names. He did make the class harder and increase the workload, but those are things I was hoping for. I want a challenge and I want to learn what he has to offer a student who wants to write for life. So it's a good set-up.
Until next time (I have one more post for today that'll be up much, much later) this is the Amazon Artiste signing off.
Post Script (Thursday the 27th): I remembered the name for the Student Lounge. It's "The Loser Lounge." As stated previously, it's extremely unfriendly.
As luck would have it, I'm still in that college-age group of students. So no one can tell that I've been in school for 5 bleeding years, seemingly stagnating in the rut of higher education. I intend to stomp that stagnation into oblivion this quarter. Turns out I'm over halfway through to a degree (finally!) and if I do well in this class, I get another one for Christmas (my parents awesome way of helping me achieve my degree). Now for that first day.
I had meticulously chosen a class that goes toward my degree, fulfills that final Humanities requirement, and is late enough in the day that I can sleep in on the mornings. Well screw that. My brother had chosen classes that require me to wake up at 7 in the morning. That seems normal to most people, but here in this homeschooled family, we're used to getting up at 9 or 10. I grudgingly got out of bed around 7:10 and attempted to put together an outfit. I had planned on doing it the night before, but I got distracted with cleaning my room, organizing my desk for the impending mounds of homework, and putting together my backpack in that way that we women have (you know that way, the one where we have to take our entire house in our bags). I actually managed to pack my bags in the most unwomanly way possible. The duct tape is even staying home (I always carry a roll with me just in case).
I ate breakfast, reminded my brother to grab his trail mix that I had promptly made the night before, and headed out the warm door to the very chilly outside. By the time we made it to campus, it was sunny and warming up (but not fast enough, so I still had to wear my coat all day). There was a benefit to having arrived on campus before 9 o'clock: plenty of parking spaces! This has been an issue in the past, particularly for this school. They built a new parking lot the year I wasn't here and it pushed back ultimate fill-up time an hour, so the parking lots are crammed shut with vehicles by 9:30 instead of 8-8:30. I no longer have to worry about parking, which is a serious time saver.
My brother and I decided to cut through the student center to see how it's changed since last we attended here (we both transferred to a junior college in the city as opposed to our navy town junior college. The city one didn't work as planned so we're back to the navy town). He only had 10 minutes before his first class so he popped in, said hello to some familiar faces, then ducked out as quickly as possible. My first and only class didn't start until 1:00 in the afternoon, which gave me 4 hours to kill (twice a week!). So I was able to soak in the new layout of the center, see who was still around, and become familiar with some new faces.
The student center's primary layout is still the same. There's the front of the building with it's walls of glass that have doors hidden in them (my mother had the hilarious experience of walking towards what she thought was a door, but turned out to be a window. I was the only one who laughed at her, but students were smiling and shaking their heads). Once through the difficult-to-see-doors, you're standing in a spacious lobby. Off to the left is the bookstore, to the right is the cafeteria. Continue along the right to the back and you get the food area (it's neither a cafe or a restaurant. It's like a stadium really, different foodies offered and ordered at different stations, but you pay at the same cash register). While still standing in the lobby, straight ahead are the back doors that lead to one of the parking lots and back passages to the Physical Education building.
Keep standing in the lobby. Continue on now with the left to the back and you get the Student Lounge. It used to have a very unkind nickname that I can't for the life of me remember. The lounge is where the stagnating or failing students hang out. Some of them do indeed finish college with a degree, but the majority of them fester away in that lounge. The lounge is home to vulgarity of every kind, intense magic the gathering play, anime addicts, druggies, computer junkies, and poorly dressed persons. It is frequently the loudest part of the center and the uncleanliest. Here you may find your hicks, slobs, sluts, and general losers at life. This isn't to say everyone who hangs out there falls into any of those categories, but it is often the case. I know many people who were good students who hung out there because that's where all their friends went, and before the quarter was out they had fallen victim to it, and were no longer good students nor savory characters.
It is often a dingy, low-lit, crowded area where seating is hard to find, and women often sit on the laps of men (which is kind of cute if you're dating the guy and there really isn't anywhere to sit. Any other time, it's flat out creepy), not to mention there are never enough tables to do anything (in the case of the loungers play cards, in the case of students study-time). Well, this year they fixed it substantially though the student body has not. The carpet has been replaced with something much brighter. They either removed or rearranged the lounge chairs so that they now have a half dozen or so tables with normal chairs. Now students can sit and easily play games or if they're smart, study! The students however have gotten louder and more vulgar.
I will not be visiting the lounge again.
I headed to the back of the building after many hours wasted watching over bags, being reacquainted with people that I will never take home to my parents, and wondering why these students even bother speaking English at all if they purposefully choose to limit their vocabulary to words of crudity, vulgarity and sheer stupidity. And I don't care who you are or where you come from, jokes of sex and rape are never funny, especially the latter. I also apparently got roped into some bullying forum thing where they discuss both sides of bullying. I'm fine with talking about my experiences with bullying, so long as it's a one-time shot. I'm not joining a club for it, and I'm not spending any amount of time on it. I'm here for an education in my field, not to promote anti-bullying (seriously, if you want to prevent bullying don't partake in it and teach your kids not to do it).
Anyway, I headed back to the MCR (multi-cultural room) which is considerably cleaner and quieter. Not to mention Jodi makes sure there is no vulgarity of any sort within the confines of the MCR. All the smart kids come here or head over to the library. The MCR is home to the international students, and it's home to where I did a lot of tutoring. I saw a few familiar faces and a lot of new ones. The familiar faces actually remembered me and seemed happy to see me (don't know if it was genuine or they were just being nice, either way I appreciated it). Then I saw Jodi, who totally remembered me and gave me a hug. Before I ran off to class, she said she was happy to see everybody (I guess she was just coming into the office) and especially to see me. That made my day. I was so happy, that someone actually cared that I was back in school.
I went to class with a smile on my face and a happiness in my heart that is still there. The class I am taking is a creative writing course that is split into two sections: short story & long narrative. I took the short story 3 years ago so this time round I'm shooting for the long narrative (which I struggle with). I am taking the course from the same professor as last time, Prof. Ian Sherman. This guy is oozing with personality and is a theatrical lecturer which makes it impossible to fall asleep in his class, not that I'd want to sleep in his class anyway. The texts are still the same so I didn't need to go and buy new ones. Hallelujah!
I don't know why but the class is held in the business building, but the room is bigger than when it was in the engineering building. Maybe in another three years they'll finally place creative writing in the same building as all the other English classes, or it'll end up in shop. (facepalm anyone?) Well, Prof. Sherman doesn't disappoint. He's just as fun & funny as he was three years ago, and still just as bad with names. He did make the class harder and increase the workload, but those are things I was hoping for. I want a challenge and I want to learn what he has to offer a student who wants to write for life. So it's a good set-up.
Until next time (I have one more post for today that'll be up much, much later) this is the Amazon Artiste signing off.
Post Script (Thursday the 27th): I remembered the name for the Student Lounge. It's "The Loser Lounge." As stated previously, it's extremely unfriendly.
September 18, 2012
World Wide What? Lego Meme-ia
I've missed a few days of blogging (3 to be exact), but I kept busy online. And now I shall share with you the fruits of my labor (actually, I'm meme-dumping because if I do it on Twitter everyone will block me for spam).
I have about 500 saved memes/pictures from all over the Internet. Normally I would have just spammed my Facebook page with all of these while adding my delightful little captions and comments. But I fried my account a few months back and now have no outlet. I will not burden this one post with all 500 spambots. I will try to organize them into groupings and instead bombard everyone with multiple posts. Maybe all today, maybe over the month. I haven't decided yet.
Anywho, I thought I'd start off with the miracles of Lego. I wish I were this creative with mine, but alas mine usually sit in a bucket and collect dust. Every now and then I use them for a minefield as revenge on my brothers, but I'd prefer it that they stay in the bucket as opposed to getting vacuumed up by their revenge.
Without further ado:
Who you gonna call? Legobusters!
Marty McLego goes back to the future...
The Avengers: Some Assembly Required
All I can really say is someone had way too much time on their hands.
That's what you get for using the Rebel's laundromat.
Have you heard Weird Al's latest hit single?
Thanks to the economy George Lucas had to cut his budget back.
Now if we were only taught this in biology...
Lego my cake?
MacGyver was here.
And the gold medal goes to...
A rebel's day off:
Purr-troopers?
I have a sinking feeling about this.
Lego Presents: The Avengers
I have about 500 saved memes/pictures from all over the Internet. Normally I would have just spammed my Facebook page with all of these while adding my delightful little captions and comments. But I fried my account a few months back and now have no outlet. I will not burden this one post with all 500 spambots. I will try to organize them into groupings and instead bombard everyone with multiple posts. Maybe all today, maybe over the month. I haven't decided yet.
Anywho, I thought I'd start off with the miracles of Lego. I wish I were this creative with mine, but alas mine usually sit in a bucket and collect dust. Every now and then I use them for a minefield as revenge on my brothers, but I'd prefer it that they stay in the bucket as opposed to getting vacuumed up by their revenge.
Without further ado:
Who you gonna call? Legobusters!
Marty McLego goes back to the future...
The Avengers: Some Assembly Required
All I can really say is someone had way too much time on their hands.
That's what you get for using the Rebel's laundromat.
Have you heard Weird Al's latest hit single?
Thanks to the economy George Lucas had to cut his budget back.
Now if we were only taught this in biology...
Lego my cake?
MacGyver was here.
And the gold medal goes to...
A rebel's day off:
Purr-troopers?
I have a sinking feeling about this.
Lego Presents: The Avengers
September 15, 2012
22.3
My pattern for writing on the Internet is simply, write when a good idea hits you. My parents and professors say to write even when you have nothing to say. Anyone who knows me knows that I always have something to say. But writing and saying are two different things. It's a lot easier to get in trouble with talking than with writing. At least it is for me. I have a tendency to talk & talk & talk & talk... I'm the Energizer Bunny of speech. There is no off switch to my tongue, which more often than not has gotten me into some pretty different situations. What exactly does "pretty different situation" even mean? That's my coy way of saying "gotten me into trouble," "gotten me into some uncomfortable situations," "gotten me into awkward situations that later turned out to be hilarious," etc.
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