I hate English class now
My English teacher sucks. She's so aggravating. She tells us dumb shit like how the theme of the book is "Expanding consciousness requires an expansive sympathy" and makes us find direct quotes from the text to support that theme. I'm all, "No, fuck you, Joyce's theme in The Dead is that Gabriel is an arrogant socially-retarded manbitch who no one, including his wife, will ever love because he's such an arrogant socially-retarded manbitch." All we ever do in class is regurgitate what she tells us or find evidence supporting what she tells us. =/ Wasn't there a time when English class was about discussion, when half the class period was spent on talking about how you felt about the literature and what your opinions were, whether or not they disagreed with the writer?
I also hate her book choice. We started out with Macbeth, which was boring as hell, and then we Kafka, which was the only good thing, and then we did some hippie book called Siddhartha which had an annoying little hippie motherfucker for a protagonist. He's some Gary Stu with money and status and good looks and intelligence and opportunity and a bright future and all he does for the whole first chapter is whine about how the only thing he wants is Enlightenment, which he says in an extremely roundabout hippie way about the "Oneness of Being" and the perfection that is Om and Brahma (their god) is One and we are Brahma and we are One. And then he goes on some journey to find Nirvana and along the way, all he does is whine about how everyone else is a good, hard-working, productive citizen who are attached to meaningless material things instead of being a hippie trying to find Nirvana while living off of the food he begs from people. And then he finally finds Enlightenment and we get this long speech about how everyone is interconnected through the great river that is Atman and there is no distinction between individuals because we are all One and time does not exist and its existance is only an Illusion and in reality, all time flows together and there are no boundaries between anything because we are all part of Atman. We're about four decades too late to be reading LSD shit like this.
And now she's telling us we're doing Pride and Prejudice next. I hate Jane Austen. She writes Victorian-era Gossip Girl. Except, you know, without any sort of sex or drama or plot twists or any of the reasons that people watch Gossip Girl, but with all the gossip and the girls that no one actually gives a fuck about. I mean, for Christ's sake, the climaxes of Austen novels are fucking dances. Like "omgomgomg, there's all sorts of important social issues happening all over the world, and our country is changing extraordinarily due to industrialization, and the human condition is a timeless subject, and the dark depths of human nature is fascinating to delve into, and the future is so full of possibilities, but instead of using my imagation to write something good, I think I'll write out the reader's fucking diary and spend fifty pages on how one minor character smiled at another one. Scandalous!" That woman needs to get laid.
Okay, I feel better now. Now I'm going to write my essay for her, in which my thesis is going to be that theme is vital to a story, and then I must spend two out of three paragraphs talking about epiphanies, and then the third explaining how epiphanies tie in to theme. I forget where I was supposed to prove my thesis.
Also, my music right now is strangely appropriate.
I also hate her book choice. We started out with Macbeth, which was boring as hell, and then we Kafka, which was the only good thing, and then we did some hippie book called Siddhartha which had an annoying little hippie motherfucker for a protagonist. He's some Gary Stu with money and status and good looks and intelligence and opportunity and a bright future and all he does for the whole first chapter is whine about how the only thing he wants is Enlightenment, which he says in an extremely roundabout hippie way about the "Oneness of Being" and the perfection that is Om and Brahma (their god) is One and we are Brahma and we are One. And then he goes on some journey to find Nirvana and along the way, all he does is whine about how everyone else is a good, hard-working, productive citizen who are attached to meaningless material things instead of being a hippie trying to find Nirvana while living off of the food he begs from people. And then he finally finds Enlightenment and we get this long speech about how everyone is interconnected through the great river that is Atman and there is no distinction between individuals because we are all One and time does not exist and its existance is only an Illusion and in reality, all time flows together and there are no boundaries between anything because we are all part of Atman. We're about four decades too late to be reading LSD shit like this.
And now she's telling us we're doing Pride and Prejudice next. I hate Jane Austen. She writes Victorian-era Gossip Girl. Except, you know, without any sort of sex or drama or plot twists or any of the reasons that people watch Gossip Girl, but with all the gossip and the girls that no one actually gives a fuck about. I mean, for Christ's sake, the climaxes of Austen novels are fucking dances. Like "omgomgomg, there's all sorts of important social issues happening all over the world, and our country is changing extraordinarily due to industrialization, and the human condition is a timeless subject, and the dark depths of human nature is fascinating to delve into, and the future is so full of possibilities, but instead of using my imagation to write something good, I think I'll write out the reader's fucking diary and spend fifty pages on how one minor character smiled at another one. Scandalous!" That woman needs to get laid.
Okay, I feel better now. Now I'm going to write my essay for her, in which my thesis is going to be that theme is vital to a story, and then I must spend two out of three paragraphs talking about epiphanies, and then the third explaining how epiphanies tie in to theme. I forget where I was supposed to prove my thesis.
Also, my music right now is strangely appropriate.