Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Scraping By Till Summer

While I do not necessarily hate anything I post, it feels like too many posts ago that I wrote anything of the same caliber as the post that got me recognized--in other words, the typical standard I try to keep in my writings. With that said, I am sure most people go through random ruts in their writing, and I am not the only one; I just hope this makes up for it.

I'd also like to note my unusual frequency in posting will not be the norm. I typically allow my readers a week or so before a new post comes in. I suppose I just felt a bit obligated to put up some posts to space-out the "Sunday Songs."




The doors sigh—one heavy, memorably squeaky sigh—as students and teachers file out to begin a well-needed session of breathing and occasional job-hunting. Screams relax and syndicate the smiles of someones—some of servitude or of studious nature, searching for salvation deep in the Sundays and Saturdays of their summers. The only rest for the wicked.

“My students don’t know ‘A Modest Proposal,’” the man of liberal arts lamented, lingering atop the stones that lined the pedestrian mall.

His woes were anything but humorous no matter how many students he mocked during my walk with him. His jokes made about the “smug-faced frat boy” whose sexual preference was up-in-the-air for the sake of humor—at least, I hope for the boy’s sake—or the over-sized girl in the tight shorts and her love of cheesecake, were hysterically cruel, but not necessarily unusual. And these remarks kept me smiling a deep, dim grin, despite all things.

“My son knew I was doing a parody of a parody”—the same professor had spouted off some words about feeding stray animals to homeless people in an attempt to end hunger—“he called them on it! He said, ‘C’mon you guys, it’s nothing more than “A Modest Proposal.”’ Not one student knew. They had no idea.” I seemed to remember him using the same example in my class a year ago.

Tired and terribly un-attracted to the class of idiot savants who had stumbled through life and into his classroom, mistakenly on their part, the listless man, with dramatic pauses that consume my air and cause me to fill the silence with the most thoughtful of thoughts, was preparing to face his doom: the class he had been sorrowfully binging for two hours through passionate verbosity and rhythmic, contagious reflection.

While I agreed his students seemed to be sadly unprepared for college-level composition courses, I was reminded I had my own doom waiting for me tomorrow with a professor ill-advised in the ways of instruction, yet one who can actually write like a published author. It is a terrible shame he never lets us forget he is one.

The man of much liberal artistry—woven from extensive looks at Freud and with literary models such as Swift—parted ways with me for a cigarette and a soothing phone call from his wife. I walked away, overcome by enamoring progressive ideals and humorous quips. The next night, I walked through the same squeaky doors, fearing they felt the same as I, and hoping to find a sign that lovingly read, “CLASS IS CANCELLED.” Instead, the same man, whose wardrobe is an unfortunate byproduct of color blindness, and a head smooth and shiny, and distracting, was standing before us, ready to “teach.” Which translates into: talk tangentially for over an hour and assign us an irrelevant quiz to finish before the end of the session. If he had spent less time stroking his ego that morning, he would have had time to write up a lesson plan not covered in his own smelly debauchery. That is to say, if he even understands the benefits of forethought.

This summer bodes well for those who desire nothing more than to create their ultimate masterpiece. Once darkened by halls, the deep recesses of the library and dormitories, we all shall see daylight again—inspiring and refreshing daylight. I can only hope my former professors’ students spend a bit more time reading something other than Sports Illustrated and The Onion (or, at least, stop taking it seriously). Our summers may be long, but they do not last. Those squeaky doors will be awaiting us when we return. I can only hope the sounds of rotten displeasure sound more welcoming—like the pleasant squeals of reunited friends—when I return.

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Don't forget to comment on this entry and help me with my art project!

17 comments:

  1. thank you. i now know what 'a modest proposal' is.

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  2. Great post! Absolutely loved it. And your picture is darling!

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  3. Oh, I feel this is a slightly different, more matured style to what you always write. But you always inspires me with your posts.

    And I'm sure every writer goes through random ruts in their writing so you needn't worry too much:)

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  4. noobyman: Glad to have helped.

    Jenny: Yay! Thank you! :D

    Sher: Aw, thank you. :) I'll definitely try not to stress about it too much.

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  5. Well written!! Great descriptions...

    "...whose wardrobe is an unfortunate byproduct of color blindness"
    Yes, I think that accurately sums up most of my lecturers too!

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  6. This brought back such vivid memories of college... especially one poli-sci class with a professor similar to the one you described. He was so dull that all I really remember about the class was trying to keep track of the number of times I missed it so I wouldn't be withdrawn...
    Interestingly, your post actually made me miss my college days a little too. I miss having the opportunity to have professors (the quality ones) share their knowledge and passion.
    Great writing!

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  7. I have to say that upon seeing your picture with this post I realized just how much more elaborate pop up books have become than since I was younger... ;)

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  8. Thanks you guys! I'm glad everyone is enjoying this post. :) It's one of the few I can say I'm really proud of.

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  9. Please tell me that youre going to keep this up! Its so great and so important. I cant wait to read far more from you. I just feel like you know so substantially and know how to make people listen to what youve got to say. This weblog is just also cool to be missed. Excellent stuff, really. Please, PLEASE keep it up!

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  10. This reminded me of highschool and college. Your writting was poetic and I forgot I wasn't reading a book. I just got into it.
    You're are truly inspiring. :)

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  11. This was really great…I loved the description, quips, and judgment, which remained thought provoking and constant throughout. Great post!

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  12. read post! i love the picture so much :) i love your blog!
    - http://thelifeofheatherpj.blogspot.com/

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  13. I love the photoshop of the material coming out of the book. Well-done! :-)

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  14. I laughed really hard at the color-blindness part. I know you're surprised...

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