Nothing is free but the memories....
Well, today consummates the second semester of my Sophomore year in college. Sophomore year. This means that I have two and a halfish years to go until I graduate from college. This is very bizarre to me, as I have never much thought of even going to college. It was always my dream, I tell you, but I was never sure that I would get in, being poor and such. It is really amazing that I have come this far, I think.
Enough of this reminiscence. As for today, the long-awaited Self and Social Responsibility class started today at nine o'clock in the morning. Big disappointment, I can assure you. The class was overly large, the chairs disturbingly comfortable, and the people...well, potential idiots, in my opinion. It was as though each of them had a crush on the TGC. They flattered and giggled at his horrid jokes. "I wanted to take your class because you are an awesome teacher." "I wanted to take your class because I thought the last class was so great!" "I wanted to take your class because you are not Dr. Muth." Why? I'm sorry, but Muth is much be preferred to TGC. Oh, it made me sick. I barely spoke. I think it may well been because I had nothing to say (and trust me, I am very talkative). The course material to this class, I know, will not be difficult at all, but the class itself, with all of its potential fools arguing about how bad and good homosexuality is...It is not to be tolerated! [Edit: The idiocy is not to be tolerated, not homosexuality, to be clear.]
Besides these thoughts swimming in my mind, I had the joy of being right before the podium, and therefore right before the professor. As such, I could see the rather large...okay, that is not a decent description of it...the insanely humongously gigantic pimple gracing his poor forehead. I could not stop looking at it--when I dared look at all. Large, and red, and squishy-looking...and just painful. I wondered what a forty-something-year-old man was doing with a pimple of that size and magnitude. It simply seemed wrong. Had he tried a science experiment to return his youth to him? And had that experiment gone awry? I cannot say. Perhaps we shall never know, but such grotesqueries as that zit I have not seen in an age.
I shall skip boring you with the particulars of the first day of Medieval Thought, as I was quite saddened that our lecture was basically a summary of Muth's opinion on everything I had ever heard him speak of, and then some. It was typical. And the class contains a wretched fifteen people. It angers me. Yet I will say nought more against it.
It is of French I wish to speak. I have not taken French in a year, and as such, I fear I was very maladjusted to the course. Dr. Ealy is a kind man, I assure you. However, he forced me to speak more than he would have the others. I impressed him a few times, for a person who had not taken the language in a year. I fear my spoken French is nearly as disconcerting and disconnected as my spoken English. Hopefully it will improve, and I shall reign supreme with an A in the class. A very kind man, though, I do think.
Finally, a few thoughts. I had watched "I love the 80s" today. A part of me thinks, do we watch things like these so that we can reconstruct an idealistic past much better than our own? I found myself nostalgic at times, nostalgic with music. Was the past really that great that we can think so highly of it, and yearn for it? Are my attempts to connect merely attempts to regain my past, to regain a sort of elysium that never existed? I cannot say, but I can think on't.
I tire and my hair falls from my head as we speak. The Seer must go.
--FdS
Enough of this reminiscence. As for today, the long-awaited Self and Social Responsibility class started today at nine o'clock in the morning. Big disappointment, I can assure you. The class was overly large, the chairs disturbingly comfortable, and the people...well, potential idiots, in my opinion. It was as though each of them had a crush on the TGC. They flattered and giggled at his horrid jokes. "I wanted to take your class because you are an awesome teacher." "I wanted to take your class because I thought the last class was so great!" "I wanted to take your class because you are not Dr. Muth." Why? I'm sorry, but Muth is much be preferred to TGC. Oh, it made me sick. I barely spoke. I think it may well been because I had nothing to say (and trust me, I am very talkative). The course material to this class, I know, will not be difficult at all, but the class itself, with all of its potential fools arguing about how bad and good homosexuality is...It is not to be tolerated! [Edit: The idiocy is not to be tolerated, not homosexuality, to be clear.]
Besides these thoughts swimming in my mind, I had the joy of being right before the podium, and therefore right before the professor. As such, I could see the rather large...okay, that is not a decent description of it...the insanely humongously gigantic pimple gracing his poor forehead. I could not stop looking at it--when I dared look at all. Large, and red, and squishy-looking...and just painful. I wondered what a forty-something-year-old man was doing with a pimple of that size and magnitude. It simply seemed wrong. Had he tried a science experiment to return his youth to him? And had that experiment gone awry? I cannot say. Perhaps we shall never know, but such grotesqueries as that zit I have not seen in an age.
I shall skip boring you with the particulars of the first day of Medieval Thought, as I was quite saddened that our lecture was basically a summary of Muth's opinion on everything I had ever heard him speak of, and then some. It was typical. And the class contains a wretched fifteen people. It angers me. Yet I will say nought more against it.
It is of French I wish to speak. I have not taken French in a year, and as such, I fear I was very maladjusted to the course. Dr. Ealy is a kind man, I assure you. However, he forced me to speak more than he would have the others. I impressed him a few times, for a person who had not taken the language in a year. I fear my spoken French is nearly as disconcerting and disconnected as my spoken English. Hopefully it will improve, and I shall reign supreme with an A in the class. A very kind man, though, I do think.
Finally, a few thoughts. I had watched "I love the 80s" today. A part of me thinks, do we watch things like these so that we can reconstruct an idealistic past much better than our own? I found myself nostalgic at times, nostalgic with music. Was the past really that great that we can think so highly of it, and yearn for it? Are my attempts to connect merely attempts to regain my past, to regain a sort of elysium that never existed? I cannot say, but I can think on't.
I tire and my hair falls from my head as we speak. The Seer must go.
--FdS