Monday, February 21, 2005

Don't pray for me, I'm not packing pounds

This is what happens when I'm ostensibly tired, but still make the effort to logon to Blogger. I got an A- for this tangent piece of "Oh mon-freakin'-dieu, this shit needs to be backed up?!" written at the 11th hour as the looming deadline cast a weary shadow over my shoulder, my head already fitted with a lightening rod bent on penalizing my compulsive procrastination. (Damn, my TA, BarbTandian, is a hard marker. I read Greekanthy's reasonably well-written paper on media bias and she received a B-.) Here's an excerpt from my craposal:

"... In a culture that values singularity of being, but practices just the opposite, I am captivated by the belief that polite society corrupts the essence of individualism when individuality cannot exist without being acknowledged as such by the "courtly" hoi polloi. ... Is asking someone to pass the salt a habit brought on by an adaptation to relative social dynamics (stemming from both conscious and subconscious responses), a product of nurture, or an inbred disintegration of civility in the home and problems of communication between members of a family (nuclear or otherwise)? The question remains whether acting like yourself (due to a high level of comfort, trust, etc.) is a contributing factor in the decline of friendly relations between these same persons. ..."

BarbTandian's comments:

"Okay, I will be straight with you. This is an interesting proposal, but it doesn't occur to me how you would do it anchored within the readings from the course. ..."

He goes on to say that he will cut me a deal. (Sort of disappointed by this decision because I was hoping he'd reject my proposal entirely and produce an idea for me that's more coherent and less bullshitty than mine.) He's allowing me to write this paper without having to relate it back to our course as long as I'm "anchored in some theory." He suggests Sigmund Freud's Totem and Taboo because there are "whole sections on manners and customs" and also because he thought I'd "be into this evocative but problematic little text." Har har har.

He added emphatically: "And learn to use semicolons. Get the Elements of Style by Strunk and White - kind of like a grammar bible for serious writers."

The sad truth is, I actually own it but have yet to crack its spine for fear of finding more fault in my less-than-stellar skills.


Wow, my written work reads really awkwardly when reviewed in retrospect. It's thick on jargon and weak on content. Unapproachable and unappetizing, it leaves much to be desired. I am suddenly disheartened, like a lone admirer of Baroquian architecture at a Bauhaus barbecue who is given a cruel roasting befitting a man of his fallen stature, a reality too obvious to ignore and too public to retract.

Bitch, I got the Mondays. My closest babes are on holiday. J.Lass has a new boyfriend. And I miss M. Biologique. (Surprise, surprise.) This is what Dante must've meant when he said, "There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy." Alright, now I'm being trippy, but I think Lily's Week of Awful Loneliness has officially commenced. Ugh, why can't I appreciate being 18? I have years of morosity ahead of me knowing 19 is a welfare cheque away.

"Well, at least I still have my books. And the best thing is, there's time now. All the time I need ..."

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