The Propensity of Clamorous Typology; A Case Study in Versimilitudes
Let me tell you things can get a bit hectic on that last wearisome leg of a semester. I have been booking it for the past 2 weeks, trying to get ponderous projects unlocked and unchained from my mind. Let me admit to you all the trials that an English major goes through during the last couple of weeks in a year.
All English professors have this thing, quite a compulsion really, that they must assign if they are to feel adequate teachers. These necessities of theirs, which is a blight to most of those who are not in the English field, and still is not an amusement park for us English majors, are called "papers". Here I will stop and define "paper" as that tedious collection of letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs, that must, by threat of termination, be placed in a very strict and very iron-clad rigidity that makes any element of interest impossible to a normal human being, and which is virtually only comprehensible to those priveleged few who hold a doctorate in English. Being the rebel that I am, I have found such confinement above and beyond the proper place of the usual tyranny in the school houses. Therefore, I have always, since I could scribble characters onto their beloved "papers", had my own revolting answer to their dictatorship. I remember once as a freshman, my professor assigned a persuasive argument "paper" for us to do. Well, I tell you, I took that little paper and argued why handwritten papers are better than typed ones. I thought it was a sound argument and I had good points to push for. Then I managed to live up to my ideal, of course, by handwriting the whole thing. Needless, to say like the Boston Tea Party (p357), the tyrant didn't like my flair. I received a D and a gruff "What do you think this is?" If only that old croon could seee me writting now, and how,...;i've took dat educasion and not seem'd too do all that not badd. Ain't it, stagirin' zhe Olaf of the grits an parroting muscodines.....;<,,:")7jldf79...oooohh!!! Look at Me! I can write whatever I dang well please! and however I dang well like to! And no red ink pen's gonna be hovering over this piece of writing! And more people(or at least I hope) read this than will ever read all those stuffy papers that I've meticulously penned!
In conclusion, I have written, this semester, A Jungian Interpretation on Saul Bellow's Henderson the Rain King, which is a staggering display of the protaganist's psychological and spiritual pathway towards full ego-development and individuation in the symbolic journey through the wilderness of Africa. It's a very neat novel. I highly recommend it. I also recommend the study of the psychological theories of Jung, which is, not to sound too snobbish, a frequent study of my own.
I then had to come up with an annotated bibliography for an interesting author of the English language. I chose the British romantic poet Lord Byron. I also highly recommend this fellow. Especially his Don Juan. What more of a plot narrative do you need for this book to entice you than saying it's about this guy who travels the world seducing women.
I then had this huge, behemoth of a task for one of my classes. It was, oh and I had great fun with this, and I ain't being sarcastic either, but I had to create my own language with its own people and their own history. I had to make a dictionary and a grammatical display of my new language. I put my mind to the creative grinding axe and hacked out the language and history of the Babelations. Yes, that's right...they were the direct descendants of the actual construction crew of the tower of Babel. They were a tribe that were forever cursed to drift and float around the seas, on their own crumbled and iced over creation, the tower. When their ancestors experienced the fall of Babel, every single individual was stuck, from the traumatic event, in whatever they were doing. And that would be their mode of communication. Some people were screaming, some snoring, some hammering while whistling, while others sawed and hummed. Nevertheless, all the components that could possibly exist as human expressions, at least one ancestor of this tribe was found doing. So the language of the Babelations was created when this whole cursed people got together and used every single one of these expressions to modify their own systematic way of communicating. This was founded of their king, "Son-of-a...", who you can probably guess what he was doing at the time of the Great Crumbling. And from that point on all their kings were titled as "Son-of-a" and so their lineage would run as such "Son-of-a" son of son of a son of son of a....well you get the point. Anyways during the Edict of the 816,458th, which is the exact number of meetings it took before such a language could be created....Okay, I'm prattling....I'm prattling just like an English professor would, I can't believe myself....all my pouring out of my contempt for the academia and this is what it's come to, that I become one of them. No, blast it all! I refuse. There fore I will not yield to their way of things, yes I said it...things. Not habitual undertakings, not esoteric diligence,...but things! The proverbial nightmarish word of all English professors, and like, if they don't...(notice I also used the word 'like') then let them, like, cringe. Ordinarily, I would round up my thoughts into a punching little sentence to end on, but since I will not become like those scholastic snivelsnerds, I will just finish this blog the way business majors and automechanics and most everyone else does, by simply stating what I will be doing as soon as I finish writing this. Thus: Gotta go...run home maybe grab something to eat and before I hit the sack, finish that short story of Dosteovsky.
All English professors have this thing, quite a compulsion really, that they must assign if they are to feel adequate teachers. These necessities of theirs, which is a blight to most of those who are not in the English field, and still is not an amusement park for us English majors, are called "papers". Here I will stop and define "paper" as that tedious collection of letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs, that must, by threat of termination, be placed in a very strict and very iron-clad rigidity that makes any element of interest impossible to a normal human being, and which is virtually only comprehensible to those priveleged few who hold a doctorate in English. Being the rebel that I am, I have found such confinement above and beyond the proper place of the usual tyranny in the school houses. Therefore, I have always, since I could scribble characters onto their beloved "papers", had my own revolting answer to their dictatorship. I remember once as a freshman, my professor assigned a persuasive argument "paper" for us to do. Well, I tell you, I took that little paper and argued why handwritten papers are better than typed ones. I thought it was a sound argument and I had good points to push for. Then I managed to live up to my ideal, of course, by handwriting the whole thing. Needless, to say like the Boston Tea Party (p357), the tyrant didn't like my flair. I received a D and a gruff "What do you think this is?" If only that old croon could seee me writting now, and how,...;i've took dat educasion and not seem'd too do all that not badd. Ain't it, stagirin' zhe Olaf of the grits an parroting muscodines.....;<,,:")7jldf79...oooohh!!! Look at Me! I can write whatever I dang well please! and however I dang well like to! And no red ink pen's gonna be hovering over this piece of writing! And more people(or at least I hope) read this than will ever read all those stuffy papers that I've meticulously penned!
In conclusion, I have written, this semester, A Jungian Interpretation on Saul Bellow's Henderson the Rain King, which is a staggering display of the protaganist's psychological and spiritual pathway towards full ego-development and individuation in the symbolic journey through the wilderness of Africa. It's a very neat novel. I highly recommend it. I also recommend the study of the psychological theories of Jung, which is, not to sound too snobbish, a frequent study of my own.
I then had to come up with an annotated bibliography for an interesting author of the English language. I chose the British romantic poet Lord Byron. I also highly recommend this fellow. Especially his Don Juan. What more of a plot narrative do you need for this book to entice you than saying it's about this guy who travels the world seducing women.
I then had this huge, behemoth of a task for one of my classes. It was, oh and I had great fun with this, and I ain't being sarcastic either, but I had to create my own language with its own people and their own history. I had to make a dictionary and a grammatical display of my new language. I put my mind to the creative grinding axe and hacked out the language and history of the Babelations. Yes, that's right...they were the direct descendants of the actual construction crew of the tower of Babel. They were a tribe that were forever cursed to drift and float around the seas, on their own crumbled and iced over creation, the tower. When their ancestors experienced the fall of Babel, every single individual was stuck, from the traumatic event, in whatever they were doing. And that would be their mode of communication. Some people were screaming, some snoring, some hammering while whistling, while others sawed and hummed. Nevertheless, all the components that could possibly exist as human expressions, at least one ancestor of this tribe was found doing. So the language of the Babelations was created when this whole cursed people got together and used every single one of these expressions to modify their own systematic way of communicating. This was founded of their king, "Son-of-a...", who you can probably guess what he was doing at the time of the Great Crumbling. And from that point on all their kings were titled as "Son-of-a" and so their lineage would run as such "Son-of-a" son of son of a son of son of a....well you get the point. Anyways during the Edict of the 816,458th, which is the exact number of meetings it took before such a language could be created....Okay, I'm prattling....I'm prattling just like an English professor would, I can't believe myself....all my pouring out of my contempt for the academia and this is what it's come to, that I become one of them. No, blast it all! I refuse. There fore I will not yield to their way of things, yes I said it...things. Not habitual undertakings, not esoteric diligence,...but things! The proverbial nightmarish word of all English professors, and like, if they don't...(notice I also used the word 'like') then let them, like, cringe. Ordinarily, I would round up my thoughts into a punching little sentence to end on, but since I will not become like those scholastic snivelsnerds, I will just finish this blog the way business majors and automechanics and most everyone else does, by simply stating what I will be doing as soon as I finish writing this. Thus: Gotta go...run home maybe grab something to eat and before I hit the sack, finish that short story of Dosteovsky.
Works Cited
Bartebly, Francis: The Aquatic Lifestyle of the Tunisian Wombat:1976.
Wottengenstinsburg, Ernst: Steinbeck's Nasal Infections Vol 3:1983.
posted by Brian Harrison | 11:35 PM
5 Comments:
But. . . where did you go for lunch? What did you eat? How long was the essay? Did son of a's mother ever experience trauma due to her child's name? So much left undone! How will I ever find peace?
Ah yes, Bobby, you see, those professors have taught you well. They teach you to be persistent in asking trivial questions.
Maybe I should do those professor's part by charging you outrageous fees for the learning of such trivial information.
Brian is school over? go house hunting with me Monday in Dothan.
I haven't read Francis' book on wombats. I've heard its great. I have read Eubis Pootsniffer's book on the duckbill platypus.
And that's why I did NOT major in English...
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