A Tale of English
On Tuesday, my english professor came into the room and wrote on the board:
"I mean...it...it means something, right?"
--Female student behind McKissick at 7:04pm
It turns out that he had eavesdropped on this girl's conversation whilst walking across campus. We then proceeded to discuss this quote for no less than 5 minutes. The entire time I was sitting there in complete disbelief. I mean...holy cow. This has reached a new level of "pointlessness". This is why I would suffocate as an English major: I don't form conclusions on only "half a story". To make matters even worse, he then addressed the class, "So...does it mean something?" He repeated this question several times. Then, he looked squarely at me and addressed the question to me. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that it was a rhetorical question, so I just stared back at him. After about 10 seconds, it became apparent that he was not going to proceed until I gave some sort of answer. So I just shrugged and he, almost mockingly, shrugged back and then went on with the rest of the insipid lecture/discussion (centered around two "short" stories that I had read almost a week previously. It took me about 3 hours to read each of them). I couldn't give a verbal answer because my teeth were valiantly embedded in my tongue to prevent it from saying "Yes. It means that you, sir, are a creepy man who needs to give serious consideration into finding a life of his own." I don't think that would have gone over well.
This has been the first class wherein I actually consult the syllabus constantly and keep up with it. Never before have I done such a thing in any other class. I usually "go with the flow" because the syllabus is almost never adhered to with respect to the schedule. Inevitably, professors get bogged down in lessons and run behind. Also, professors and classmates can usually be relied upon to mention when a test or quiz is approaching. Thus, I'm always in the know.
But for this class...for some reason, I feel a horribly strong compulsion to strictly adhere to the syllabus, nevermind the fact that we're now a week behind. This past week was meant to be spent in discussion of All the King's Men. Hence, a week ago in anticipation of the lesson, I read a grueling 50 pages of the novel a day. It doesn't seem like a lot, but considering that it usually took me no less than two hours to complete this amount, it certainly detracted from the time I could have spent doing something worthwhile (like...anything else). But, I made myself complete it "on time".
Then, on Thursday, the professor asked how far everyone has gotten. No one said anything. Then he asked, "Who's about halfway through?" About three people raised their hands. When he asked who was two-thirds completed, I think only one person raised their hand. He didn't ask who completed it, so I didn't say anything. Then he asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"
I'll admit. Being in that class pisses me off. I've been spoiled: all of my classes that I've taken up to this point have been conducive to at least some learning, whether it's learning that I consider relevant to my interests or not. I have learned nothing in english so far. Absolutely. Nothing. I sit in class and listen to people proclaim their opinions and make conclusions based on events and people to which they have limited knowledge of. I. Don't. Care.
Also, before this, we had read a short story about a doctor who treats a women who had an unadvised abortion (circa 1920's I think) against his advice. The baby had been a family friend's and not her husbands. The doctor knew this but was compelled to keep silent on the matter. He was rather miffed that the woman had the gall to blatantly go against his medical advise and then proceed to call on him when she suffered the severe consequences (hemorraging, for instance) of her actions. The doctor treated her, but mentioned that at least he stays in the family's good graces and will continue to enjoy the perks of their friendship such as hunting expeditions. The english professor remarked how horrible the doctor was due to his remarks on his pregnant women patients in general: apparently the professor read his remarks as disparaging. I, on the other hand, found fault with his patients: irrational women who blame their pregnancy on factors beyond their control and who want other's to risk their own livelihood (abortion was illegal) to help them get out of their circumstances. In short, his character, to me, seemed understandable, if a bit petty when it came to being glad that he'll get to reap the physical rewards of remaining in their friendship. The professor found him unseemingly cynical and condescending*.
I'm not doing either of our points of view justice, because I don't really care: he's entitled to his opinion as am I. I only mention this because it was a precipitating event that lead to what I did next.
When the professor asked if anyone had any questions concerning All the King's Men, I would have been inclined to keep my mouth shut. Sure, I had questions (chiefly among them was "What the hell did I just read." or "I'm sorry...did this novel have a point?") but I try to keep my mouth shut in there. However, the fact that I was the only one who had read it, the only one who suffered and sacrificed her time so as to perhaps help make an interesting class discussion with my own point of view if it was called for, in short, the only one who cared, I was pissed. I'll admit. I became rather vindictive.
So I was sure to ask a spoiler question.
To my credit, I did ask the professor, "I have a question...but I think I might spoil the novel by asking it."
He then asked, "Do you think you could spoil it?" This question did nothing to quell my rising bitchiness.
"Well, I did finish the novel."
"You did? Why didn't you raise your hand?"
"You didn't ask if anyone had completed it."
He then recalled that he didn't. He then said I was free to ask whatever question I wanted. So I made sure to ask a question that revealed that Anne Stanton and Gov. Stark had an affair. In retrospect, this wasn't nearly the worse plot point I could have spoiled. That is my only regret.
Between discreetly rubbing the fact that I had finished the novel into my classmates' faces and my own "terrible" opinions, I don't think I'm going to make many friends in there. Also, I really find my tolerance for debates and discussion in that class declining at an alarming rate.
Also, rugby last night sucked. I'm getting much better at propping, but when we were doing a scrimmage with the Bombshells, our team was doing horrible. When we do horrible, our captain gets pissed off and resorts to yelling and just being and ineffective leader. We know she's pissed, but she provides nothing in the way of instructions to correct matters. So, we know we're doing something wrong, but we don't know how to fix it. Heck, this seems to be the recurring theme at rugby, seeing as most of what I know about how to play I had to discover for myself.
I feel so strung out...
*Though the professor did make the profound statement that "Is it any wonder why we call them patience?" The class was silent. "I mean...you have to have patience when it comes to medical matters..." I mean...holy cow! Who'd make that connection?!? Absolutely brilliant! ....This class is eating my soul.