You go to college to learn...
I realized when I get older I'm not going to regret some of the tiny stupid decisions I've made- but I'm going to miss the youthful energy with which I've done them.
School continues to blaze on, free time segmented up for homework and sleeping. After a summer of doing nothing its all kind of rewarding, even if the stress makes me insane and the responsibilities have a depressing air. The Lambda meeting is tonight, with a changed location I didn't get to alert anyone about until about noon today, but hopefully the news shall spread thanks to the magic of internet. First meeting should also be pretty exciting because it is just a lot of new members and the only structure comes in the form of introducing ourselves and SO ON AND SO FORTH.
So my 20th Century Art History class is weird. Really really weird. The teacher goes off onto tangents that it is sometimes hard to explain because they are so unlike anything I've ever witnessed. Monday's class she pulled out a bongo drum and presented information to us in a syncapated sing-song format. Then she threw a beachball into the organized row of desks and told us to bunt it over our heads (like an impatient crowd at a concert.)
Today she told us to go out to one of the squares in Savannah. We stood and waited for ten minutes until she finally met us in the square and told us to stand on the grass.
"Stretch your arms we're doing aesthetic excercises."
Then she went to her car and came back with two picnic baskets.
"How did that make you feel?" she asked. "Did you feel the blood rushing back into your fingertips?"
She asked around for adjectives to describe this feeling. Loose. Tingly. Engorged.
"Close your eyes. Close your eyes and open your mouths, relax your jaws."
We did this. To any casual passer by's, we looked like a class of students standing around in a 'love circle' and making orgasm faces.
"Write down 'asthetic excercises' on your paper."
Then the prof pulled into her picnic basket and pulled out a large glass bottle that looked not unlike a water bong. It was a wine decanter, something Picasso had a sailer holding in a brothel in a sketch for one of his paintings.
She asked if anyone was under the age of twenty one. I raised my hand. Before I knew what was happening, she filled the decanter up with water and started pouring it out into my mouth.
With the excess water she started sprinkling the grass. After that, she poured it over her head while saying "ahh." Reaching back in her picnic basket she pulled out a bottle of wine and stuck the spout in the funnel of the decanter.
"Yes, they fit very well together, don't they, class?" she commented. "Sort of as if they were made to fit together, like a lock in a key. There is something wonderfully sexual about this, don't you find? What is an example of other sexual symbols can you find?"
"A sword going into a sheath?" someone asked.
"Yes yes! All excellent! Open your mouth!"
She poured some wine into this guys mouth, then went around and gave everyone wine.
"Just like church!" someone said.
Again the picnic basket opened and she pulled out the book "Eats, Shoots and Leaves."
"This is an excellent book," she said. "Write the title down on your piece of paper. Make sure you put in the commas at the right spaces."
Then, just like she did with the water, the prof began sprinkling the alchohol into the grass.
"You should always do this when entering a sacred place, class," she said, continuing to sprinkle the wine and talking about sacred areas and spiritual energies. Becomming aware of yourself in order to lead fuller lives.
"Write down how you felt stretching your arms on the paper," she said. "And hand it into me. Class is over!"
So yeah. Really interesting wordly teacher, or more reasons why two and a half hour long lecture classes are a very bad call?
School continues to blaze on, free time segmented up for homework and sleeping. After a summer of doing nothing its all kind of rewarding, even if the stress makes me insane and the responsibilities have a depressing air. The Lambda meeting is tonight, with a changed location I didn't get to alert anyone about until about noon today, but hopefully the news shall spread thanks to the magic of internet. First meeting should also be pretty exciting because it is just a lot of new members and the only structure comes in the form of introducing ourselves and SO ON AND SO FORTH.
So my 20th Century Art History class is weird. Really really weird. The teacher goes off onto tangents that it is sometimes hard to explain because they are so unlike anything I've ever witnessed. Monday's class she pulled out a bongo drum and presented information to us in a syncapated sing-song format. Then she threw a beachball into the organized row of desks and told us to bunt it over our heads (like an impatient crowd at a concert.)
Today she told us to go out to one of the squares in Savannah. We stood and waited for ten minutes until she finally met us in the square and told us to stand on the grass.
"Stretch your arms we're doing aesthetic excercises."
Then she went to her car and came back with two picnic baskets.
"How did that make you feel?" she asked. "Did you feel the blood rushing back into your fingertips?"
She asked around for adjectives to describe this feeling. Loose. Tingly. Engorged.
"Close your eyes. Close your eyes and open your mouths, relax your jaws."
We did this. To any casual passer by's, we looked like a class of students standing around in a 'love circle' and making orgasm faces.
"Write down 'asthetic excercises' on your paper."
Then the prof pulled into her picnic basket and pulled out a large glass bottle that looked not unlike a water bong. It was a wine decanter, something Picasso had a sailer holding in a brothel in a sketch for one of his paintings.
She asked if anyone was under the age of twenty one. I raised my hand. Before I knew what was happening, she filled the decanter up with water and started pouring it out into my mouth.
With the excess water she started sprinkling the grass. After that, she poured it over her head while saying "ahh." Reaching back in her picnic basket she pulled out a bottle of wine and stuck the spout in the funnel of the decanter.
"Yes, they fit very well together, don't they, class?" she commented. "Sort of as if they were made to fit together, like a lock in a key. There is something wonderfully sexual about this, don't you find? What is an example of other sexual symbols can you find?"
"A sword going into a sheath?" someone asked.
"Yes yes! All excellent! Open your mouth!"
She poured some wine into this guys mouth, then went around and gave everyone wine.
"Just like church!" someone said.
Again the picnic basket opened and she pulled out the book "Eats, Shoots and Leaves."
"This is an excellent book," she said. "Write the title down on your piece of paper. Make sure you put in the commas at the right spaces."
Then, just like she did with the water, the prof began sprinkling the alchohol into the grass.
"You should always do this when entering a sacred place, class," she said, continuing to sprinkle the wine and talking about sacred areas and spiritual energies. Becomming aware of yourself in order to lead fuller lives.
"Write down how you felt stretching your arms on the paper," she said. "And hand it into me. Class is over!"
So yeah. Really interesting wordly teacher, or more reasons why two and a half hour long lecture classes are a very bad call?