In which violets are incredibly important
I know it seems dumb to post one LJ post right after another, but I wanted to talk about Shakespeare.
...Wait, no, come back! I traumatize a teacher this time!
I'm not so great with the whole talking-in-front-of-people business (no, for real), so I was kind of relieved when 'class participation' for this week's Modernisms tutorial meant drawing. You may recall me mentioning before that I got to storyboard a bit of the Waste Land that quoted from Hamlet. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about now. (The song I went with was 12012's 'Cyclone', if anyone's wondering.)
In class we got into groups with the other people that did the same lines as us and discussed our interpretations. I did a very literal rendition, while one girl did a completely abstract version that was very awesome, I must say. The other girl in our group was half-way between realism and abstract, so it was a cool mix. We then had to combine our ideas and decide on two final panels to redraw and put on the overhead; everyone decided my violets had to be included, which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Then we had to explain it to the class.
"We'll talk," one girl assured me, and I realized that apparently people I had no prior acquaintance with were completely aware of my fear of not just public speaking, but speaking in general. (In retrospect I suppose it's possible that the way I kept shrinking back into a cloud of denim, headphones, and staticky hair every time someone asked me a question might have tipped them off.) But I felt a little guilty letting them do all the work, so I volunteered to read the relevant lines, and everyone looked happy that I was making an effort. (God, I'm a charity case. AUGH.)
We were the last group to go so we were a little rushed. I read the lines first and was incredibly grateful I'd decided to wear baggy jeans today because they made how much my legs were shaking less apparent. The other girls kind of explained the panels and fumbled over the bit about the violets. The T.A. (henceforth referred to as 'Heather', for, I should hope, obvious reasons) then began trying to prompt the class to elaborate on the relevance of the violets, but made the mistake of starting by mentioning Ophelia's 'suicide'.
Oh, Heather. No.
My hand was in the air for about three seconds before I'd realized it had acted on its own. "Sorry, but, um, I kind of have a problem with that." I launched into a rather lengthy explanation of how Ophelia's madness makes it hard to tell whether her death was suicide or completely accidental, how the topic is discussed or questioned several times within the text but a definitive conclusion is never reached, how I'm very touchy about this... I cited specific scenes and quoted from the text. Please note that my copy of Hamlet is an hour's drive away and I haven't reread Hamlet in at least two years.
Heather looks mildly impressed and more than a little terrified.
Yeeeah.
She moved quickly along to asking the class to draw parallels between the scene being discussed and Ophelia's situation. I honestly had high hopes for the class; I'd pretty much spelled it out in my little rant. And yet, no hands in the air.
SIGH.
"Pardon, um, I think I can cover that as well..."
Ten minutes, several cheap shots at the male characters of Hamlet, and more than a few gratuitous re-explainings of the significance of violets later...
"Um, okay. I think that's it for class!"
Oh, but I'm not that easy to shake.
"Pardon, Heather, but I was searching through my harddrive last night and I found this essay I wrote on classical references within the Waste Land and overhauled it for kicks. I was wondering if you'd like to read it over?"
The only other time I've seen someone look at me like that was when I explained my intense fear of Cookie Monster to my family.
Oh, and apparently this is an acceptable substitute for actual class participation.
...Wait, no, come back! I traumatize a teacher this time!
I'm not so great with the whole talking-in-front-of-people business (no, for real), so I was kind of relieved when 'class participation' for this week's Modernisms tutorial meant drawing. You may recall me mentioning before that I got to storyboard a bit of the Waste Land that quoted from Hamlet. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about now. (The song I went with was 12012's 'Cyclone', if anyone's wondering.)
In class we got into groups with the other people that did the same lines as us and discussed our interpretations. I did a very literal rendition, while one girl did a completely abstract version that was very awesome, I must say. The other girl in our group was half-way between realism and abstract, so it was a cool mix. We then had to combine our ideas and decide on two final panels to redraw and put on the overhead; everyone decided my violets had to be included, which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Then we had to explain it to the class.
"We'll talk," one girl assured me, and I realized that apparently people I had no prior acquaintance with were completely aware of my fear of not just public speaking, but speaking in general. (In retrospect I suppose it's possible that the way I kept shrinking back into a cloud of denim, headphones, and staticky hair every time someone asked me a question might have tipped them off.) But I felt a little guilty letting them do all the work, so I volunteered to read the relevant lines, and everyone looked happy that I was making an effort. (God, I'm a charity case. AUGH.)
We were the last group to go so we were a little rushed. I read the lines first and was incredibly grateful I'd decided to wear baggy jeans today because they made how much my legs were shaking less apparent. The other girls kind of explained the panels and fumbled over the bit about the violets. The T.A. (henceforth referred to as 'Heather', for, I should hope, obvious reasons) then began trying to prompt the class to elaborate on the relevance of the violets, but made the mistake of starting by mentioning Ophelia's 'suicide'.
Oh, Heather. No.
My hand was in the air for about three seconds before I'd realized it had acted on its own. "Sorry, but, um, I kind of have a problem with that." I launched into a rather lengthy explanation of how Ophelia's madness makes it hard to tell whether her death was suicide or completely accidental, how the topic is discussed or questioned several times within the text but a definitive conclusion is never reached, how I'm very touchy about this... I cited specific scenes and quoted from the text. Please note that my copy of Hamlet is an hour's drive away and I haven't reread Hamlet in at least two years.
Heather looks mildly impressed and more than a little terrified.
Yeeeah.
She moved quickly along to asking the class to draw parallels between the scene being discussed and Ophelia's situation. I honestly had high hopes for the class; I'd pretty much spelled it out in my little rant. And yet, no hands in the air.
SIGH.
"Pardon, um, I think I can cover that as well..."
Ten minutes, several cheap shots at the male characters of Hamlet, and more than a few gratuitous re-explainings of the significance of violets later...
"Um, okay. I think that's it for class!"
Oh, but I'm not that easy to shake.
"Pardon, Heather, but I was searching through my harddrive last night and I found this essay I wrote on classical references within the Waste Land and overhauled it for kicks. I was wondering if you'd like to read it over?"
The only other time I've seen someone look at me like that was when I explained my intense fear of Cookie Monster to my family.
Oh, and apparently this is an acceptable substitute for actual class participation.