Recently, I received a mysterious e-mail from Stepford Residence Life summoning me to a "hearing" of the "Community Standards Council" to determine if I was responsible for allegedly being "involved in a incident in violation of Stepford's values and honor code." I told my roommates and Amber immediately began channeling all those Law and Order marathons we've wasted good sleeping hours on. We (really, just she) poured over the Student Handbook and discovered that the summons technically violated Values Violations procedure as outlined in the handbook, as it did not inform me of whatever the alleged incident actually was (although it did tell me the date of the incident, from last semester - like I remember what I did last week!).
We didn't have time to get pencil skirt suits and briefcases, so we marched into the hearing wearing jeans and backpacks instead - Amber playing the role of my legal counsel and Mary Beth just there to be amused. It took us a while to find the room, as it was in a part of the University Center we never go in. At first I thought it was the door behind the big statue of a dead white guy that used to be in the room in the Capitol where they have statues from all the states (they replaced him with Helen Keller, she's more PC), but the door was unmarked, and when we stood in front of the statue and said "Lemon Drop," nothing happened. We did find it, though, and we weren't late, although half the council was - the council being comprised of a staff adviser and seven students, only two of whom actually showed up. A handful of other equally confused students were present to get their sentences (more politely called "sanctions"). You parked in the wrong parking lot? Hang them on the Quad! Hang them all on the Quad!
They explained how we would each get a chance to tell our side of the story privately to the council before they discussed our sanctions. They finally presented us with written reports of our "incidents" - thus removing a leg from our defense about "not following procedure."
The incident? We have visitation hours in the dorms, when we are allowed to have members of the opposite sex in the dorms (co-ed dorms are for heathens and sexual vagrants), provided we sign our visitors in at the residence life office and fork over a drivers license and a kidney as collateral. On weekends, visitation is from 2 PM - 12 AM, and usually when we have guys over, it's the weekend. However, on weekdays, visitation ends at 10 PM. The day of the mysterious incident was a weekDAY, not a weekEND, and we were hanging out in the dorm, when at 10:15 PM I received a phone call from Residence Life telling me to come sign out my visitor. We signed out and I apologized to the (apparently pissed) RA on duty, explaining that I had forgotten visitation ended at 10 and not midnight. No harm done, right? Wrong! Stepford has been VIOLATED and someone must be punished! The RA on duty, contrary to the forgiving nature of almost every other RA I know, wrote a report on the heinous and malicious breach of protocol and it was this report that caused me to be summoned to the Community Standards Council on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
I told them my side of the story - what I've told you here, minus my comments on the RA's bad mood. One of the two students on the council said dubiously, "That's it?" and they sent me on my way with their characteristically Stepford smiles, promising an e-mail the following day that would deliver my sanction, if there was any.
My thoughts afterwards? That this was a ridiculous, trivial waste of time, and these reasonable people understood the harmless and thoroughly accidental nature of the incident. Well, I got my sentencing via e-mail today, as promised, and I received two points on my "record," seven of which will send a person to the "Values Advocate" and likely put them on probation.
You know what else I did today? I put down a deposit on an off-campus apartment.
I don't foresee suddenly accumulating 5 more points in the next year, but the absolutely useless nature of the entire process from start to finish has only solidified my firm dislike of the Stepford administration. I have wonderful professors, I've met a few interesting people, and I've gotten a good liberal arts education for what is unfortunately a bargain, but I will have no feelings of nostalgia or affection for the institution when I step off its perfectly landscaped campus for the last time. This one incident is not what has tarnished my view of Stepford, it's only the cherry on top - a battle scar, if you will, and an enjoyable story to tell.
27 March 2010
25 March 2010
Existential Mortality = Joy
We have been reading dead Germans for longer than anyone should ever be forced to. Whether or not Tuesday's lecture/discussion/monologue was on the Heidegger reading we were required is beyond me, because I'm still on Nietzsche. The discussion - which is really just Dr. P talking about what he thinks about the reading and anything possibly related in his life currently, with the occasional lewd joke thrown in - somehow ended up being about death. According to Heidegger, man's ultimate possibility is his impossibility. In English: the only thing certain in life is death.
Philosophy lectures can be long and frustrating, because they are often a lot of jargon to no end. Philosophers supposedly search for answers, but they seem to delight in coming roundabout 360 degrees. That, combined with the cheery prospect of death, should have made it a particularly depressing lecture.
On the contrary, it made my day about 100% better.
Dr. P presented a few different reactions to our mortality: we can become nihilists, we can become hedonists, or we can relish each moment of joy with added value because of its scarcity and inevitable end. Of these three, I agreed with the third. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, if not for shadows, we wouldn't know what light means. Dr. P continued with the the consequences of our mortality and our general insignificance on earth - in a hundred years, he said, nobody will think of us anymore. Nobody will remember us, and even if we do something that goes in the history books, we're still dead, and we're not coming back. This was the absolute highlight of my day, because - in two hundred years, when nobody remembers my name,
I WILL BE WITH JESUS
And who even cares about the history books then?
Philosophy lectures can be long and frustrating, because they are often a lot of jargon to no end. Philosophers supposedly search for answers, but they seem to delight in coming roundabout 360 degrees. That, combined with the cheery prospect of death, should have made it a particularly depressing lecture.
On the contrary, it made my day about 100% better.
Dr. P presented a few different reactions to our mortality: we can become nihilists, we can become hedonists, or we can relish each moment of joy with added value because of its scarcity and inevitable end. Of these three, I agreed with the third. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, if not for shadows, we wouldn't know what light means. Dr. P continued with the the consequences of our mortality and our general insignificance on earth - in a hundred years, he said, nobody will think of us anymore. Nobody will remember us, and even if we do something that goes in the history books, we're still dead, and we're not coming back. This was the absolute highlight of my day, because - in two hundred years, when nobody remembers my name,
I WILL BE WITH JESUS
And who even cares about the history books then?
24 March 2010
I finally remembered to bring my metronome to work today. Luke, my 9 year old student, thought it was THE COOLEST thing ever. He had a hard time playing with it at first, which always made me loathe the thing as a kid, but he still thought it was SO COOL and wanted to know WHERE he could get one for himself. He also was thrilled to show off his awesome multiplication skills when I wanted to switch from the quarter note getting the beat to the eighth note getting the beat. When Luke's lesson is over, he always sends his 7 year old brother Kyle in for his lesson. Kyle opened the door and gave the room a quick once-over, like he was looking for something really big, and said (loudly),
"Where's the metronome thingy? Luke said there was gonna be a metronome thingy!" I picked it up the small ticker and showed it to him,
"This is it. Do you want to see how it works?" Kyle's face immediately fell.
"Oh. Luke said I was gonna be really surprised." He paused, shook his said wryly and said, "I'm not."
In other news, I bought an electronic piano today, secondhand from my boss.
The only thing it doesn't have is weighted keys, which would give it more the feel of a real piano. Nonetheless, it was a great deal, and after I moved Mary Beth's bed into the living room it fit perfectly. Ah, I'm kidding. I had to move my dresser into my closet, but it's a sacrifice willingly made. All that remains to do now is get a good pair of headphones so as not to bother the roomies when pounding out Regina Spektor's "Apres Moi" or tripping over Clair de Lune.
This semester is a tough one, with 5 classes total, 3 of them upper-level and reading/writing intensive. I've become a bit burned out on writing the opinion column and, obviously, blogging. I hate that I feel so apathetic toward writing, but I'm too apathetic to overcome that apathy. Music is becoming more important to me (not that it was ever less important) and I find myself drumming piano fingerings on my desk during particularly long lectures. I am counting down the weeks until summer (6 1/2!), even though I usually hate summer. I find if I have low expectations, my expectations will be pleasantly exceeded. I know, I'm a regular Pollyanna. We found an apartment we like and will be moving in hopefully in June. Maybe I will finally have room for all my instruments and 1/4 of my books!
"Where's the metronome thingy? Luke said there was gonna be a metronome thingy!" I picked it up the small ticker and showed it to him,
"This is it. Do you want to see how it works?" Kyle's face immediately fell.
"Oh. Luke said I was gonna be really surprised." He paused, shook his said wryly and said, "I'm not."
In other news, I bought an electronic piano today, secondhand from my boss.
The only thing it doesn't have is weighted keys, which would give it more the feel of a real piano. Nonetheless, it was a great deal, and after I moved Mary Beth's bed into the living room it fit perfectly. Ah, I'm kidding. I had to move my dresser into my closet, but it's a sacrifice willingly made. All that remains to do now is get a good pair of headphones so as not to bother the roomies when pounding out Regina Spektor's "Apres Moi" or tripping over Clair de Lune.
This semester is a tough one, with 5 classes total, 3 of them upper-level and reading/writing intensive. I've become a bit burned out on writing the opinion column and, obviously, blogging. I hate that I feel so apathetic toward writing, but I'm too apathetic to overcome that apathy. Music is becoming more important to me (not that it was ever less important) and I find myself drumming piano fingerings on my desk during particularly long lectures. I am counting down the weeks until summer (6 1/2!), even though I usually hate summer. I find if I have low expectations, my expectations will be pleasantly exceeded. I know, I'm a regular Pollyanna. We found an apartment we like and will be moving in hopefully in June. Maybe I will finally have room for all my instruments and 1/4 of my books!
22 February 2010
Heigh-ho, Berlin!
My Russian history book is open to the chapter on Russian exile in Berlin, Paris, and America, post-Bolshevik. My ticket for the DDR (German Democratic Republic) museum in Berlin, ever the faithful bookmark, is tucked between the pages. Berlin here and Berlin there, and it makes me want to go back. We only spent 4 days in Berlin, those few days packed with snow, trains, and tourism, but it was enough to generate a lifetime of interest. I'm no worldwide explorer, yet, but I've been to my share of European cities, and Berlin stands out starkly, embracing its scandalous and tragic recent history to defy traditional spire-filled European skylines. The panoramic brochure of Berlin as seen from the Reichstag that makes a pretend window on the backing of my desk shows a different, clearer, and more cluttered Berlin than the dark, snowy, light-studded city I saw from the same perspective the freakishly cold night that we ventured to the glass-domed building. What is it about Berlin? Is it the Soviet bloc buildings? The ruins of a French Prussia? The insistent modernity sprung up alongside, in spite of, inescapable past?
It's quite possible that I am romanticizing the city. I tend to romanticize things I don't know much about. Yet, the remnants of a soviet world, so foreign to me, whisper enticingly. There are hundreds of cathedrals and castles in Europe, but only one Berlin.
Berlin. It speaks to me just like all the other places I long to visit. Always restless, always wanting to go somewhere, do something, have an adventure! Adventures are never what I expect, though. Usually they're decidedly less adventurous.
Robert Louis Stevenson reminded me recently that "the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek." I was frustrated when he told me this...does this mean I should sit at home and just wait for adventure to come to me? Robert, what are you thinking? Unfortunately, he died a while ago, so he can't answer me back. I do agree with his statement, but it leaves much to be desired regarding how to approach adventures.
It would be nice if I could achieve some resolution in this short blog post. Adventure equals __, therefore I should ___ in my own life. Enter dreamy and optimistic phrase with a sunny outlook on life. Adventure is out there! You know. But alas, life is always far more complicated, varied, nebulous, ambiguous, turbulent, and deceptive. How's that for sunny side down?
It's quite possible that I am romanticizing the city. I tend to romanticize things I don't know much about. Yet, the remnants of a soviet world, so foreign to me, whisper enticingly. There are hundreds of cathedrals and castles in Europe, but only one Berlin.
Berlin. It speaks to me just like all the other places I long to visit. Always restless, always wanting to go somewhere, do something, have an adventure! Adventures are never what I expect, though. Usually they're decidedly less adventurous.
Robert Louis Stevenson reminded me recently that "the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek." I was frustrated when he told me this...does this mean I should sit at home and just wait for adventure to come to me? Robert, what are you thinking? Unfortunately, he died a while ago, so he can't answer me back. I do agree with his statement, but it leaves much to be desired regarding how to approach adventures.
It would be nice if I could achieve some resolution in this short blog post. Adventure equals __, therefore I should ___ in my own life. Enter dreamy and optimistic phrase with a sunny outlook on life. Adventure is out there! You know. But alas, life is always far more complicated, varied, nebulous, ambiguous, turbulent, and deceptive. How's that for sunny side down?
20 February 2010
golden crust on the apple pie
Tell you what I like about jazz trumpet...sometimes you can't tell if it's the muted trumpet or someone singing nonsense. Is it the instrument or the voice? Does it matter? The feeling's the same - mournful, staggering, playful, and a little bit drunk.
I know what you're thinking. What on earth am I doing up so early on a Saturday morning?! (It's 11:48 AM) I have actually been awake for over an hour. How is that for crazy? I have plans to get stuff done today. Therefore, I have to have a couple hours to contemplate what it is that needs doing, before I can contemplate starting. Furthermore, it is a blueskyed almost-60 degrees here in the recently frigid 'Ham, which means that an outdoor excursion is absolutely necessary.
Last night I went ice skating and was reminded why I hate ice skating. Luckily I was with several people, because misery loves company.
Best get to that contemplating. Have a lovely Saturday! Don't over exert yourself!
I know what you're thinking. What on earth am I doing up so early on a Saturday morning?! (It's 11:48 AM) I have actually been awake for over an hour. How is that for crazy? I have plans to get stuff done today. Therefore, I have to have a couple hours to contemplate what it is that needs doing, before I can contemplate starting. Furthermore, it is a blueskyed almost-60 degrees here in the recently frigid 'Ham, which means that an outdoor excursion is absolutely necessary.
Last night I went ice skating and was reminded why I hate ice skating. Luckily I was with several people, because misery loves company.
Best get to that contemplating. Have a lovely Saturday! Don't over exert yourself!
05 February 2010
the anti-romantic
Since Valentine's Day is rolling around soon, I thought I would share my feelings with you regarding this popular holiday. I thought that videotaping myself hurling would be an accurate description, but I haven't thrown up since Christmas, so I am resigned to use words instead.
I do not like Valentine's Day. I think it is icky. Think about it: crappy candy and obscenely prolific pink. What's not to hurl about? Trite expressions of love written by greeting card companies are supposed to convey our true feelings to the people we care for, or just to whomever will consent to be our beloved for a day in a mutual desire to stave off loneliness during a holiday exclusively for twos.
Do I sound like a woman scorned? Well, I'm not. Truth be told, I have never been in love. I'm told that when I finally am in love, all the mushy-gushy stuff I sneer at now will seem terribly romantic and exciting. Still, I don't think I will embrace teddy bears with hearts, want candy hearts, or anything with hearts for that matter (I really don't like hearts), and I'm fairly certain I'll still hate pink and dislike Titanic. However, I doubt this will be a problem. When trivialities are removed, truth is allowed to stand starkly in full view, no longer cluttered or obscured by additions. Love will be allowed to be love when it has shed trite expressions or poor imitations. That, I can look forward to.
Meanwhile, the singles are looking, or at least hoping and wishing for a perfect Valentine to appear within the week. Couples will make reservations at expensive restaurants and buy each other expensive trinkets. Third-graders will make Valentine shoeboxes, which actually is pretty cute. And I have good news. Next Saturday night I'll be with the ones I love the most: my parents. I'll take good old familial love over the Feb 14 scramble any day. Particularly if they are going to drive 200 miles just to see me and to bring the things I forgot last time I was home (I need to send them that list...). I don't know how this ended up as a tribute to my parents, but when I start writing I rarely know where I will end, so: Be My Valentines, Mom and Dad?
I do not like Valentine's Day. I think it is icky. Think about it: crappy candy and obscenely prolific pink. What's not to hurl about? Trite expressions of love written by greeting card companies are supposed to convey our true feelings to the people we care for, or just to whomever will consent to be our beloved for a day in a mutual desire to stave off loneliness during a holiday exclusively for twos.
Do I sound like a woman scorned? Well, I'm not. Truth be told, I have never been in love. I'm told that when I finally am in love, all the mushy-gushy stuff I sneer at now will seem terribly romantic and exciting. Still, I don't think I will embrace teddy bears with hearts, want candy hearts, or anything with hearts for that matter (I really don't like hearts), and I'm fairly certain I'll still hate pink and dislike Titanic. However, I doubt this will be a problem. When trivialities are removed, truth is allowed to stand starkly in full view, no longer cluttered or obscured by additions. Love will be allowed to be love when it has shed trite expressions or poor imitations. That, I can look forward to.
Meanwhile, the singles are looking, or at least hoping and wishing for a perfect Valentine to appear within the week. Couples will make reservations at expensive restaurants and buy each other expensive trinkets. Third-graders will make Valentine shoeboxes, which actually is pretty cute. And I have good news. Next Saturday night I'll be with the ones I love the most: my parents. I'll take good old familial love over the Feb 14 scramble any day. Particularly if they are going to drive 200 miles just to see me and to bring the things I forgot last time I was home (I need to send them that list...). I don't know how this ended up as a tribute to my parents, but when I start writing I rarely know where I will end, so: Be My Valentines, Mom and Dad?
21 November 2009
boob tube
I will never understand the culture in which TV is a member of the family.
Some people turn on the TV first thing when they get up in the morning (if they even turned it off the night before). I like to have a cup of coffee and stare out the window, maybe check my e-mail. I'm not too fond of strangers on the telly talking loudly at me while I'm trying to enjoy my morning.
Some people never turn the TV off. They NEVER TURN THE TV OFF. Whether nobody's watching or everybody's watching, or everybody's in the room with the TV but nobody's watching, or people are back and forth, the TV is always on, stuck on some lame show that nobody really wants to pay attention to. Despite this fact, it never occurs to somebody to turn the darn thing off! Growing up, we only turned the TV on for a couple hours a day, and watched it the whole time it was on. Then, when the show was over, or our brains had rotted enough, we turned it off.
TV is like candy or dessert. It's fun and good in small doses. In fact, I like good TV shows as much as I like movies. House, Bones, NCIS, Law and Order - they're like mini-movies that I get to watch every week. But 95% of television is total CRAP, which is why I don't understand why people want to have it on so often.
As long as I'm discussing crap, I might as well tell you about my least favorite TV channel ever: The Freakshow Channel. Whoops, I'm sorry, I meant TLC, The Learning Channel. This channel takes advantage of people's desire for fame, recognition, or even just an understanding ear, and exploits them as freaks for their differences. And we, the American population, watch them like we would the Fat Lady at the circus. Any misplaced expectation on the part of the subjects of the show that they would be understood and seen as normal through publicity is shot to hell as they are paraded around on television as DIFFERENT and WEIRD.
Anyway. That's my morning rant. Now back to my coffee.
Some people turn on the TV first thing when they get up in the morning (if they even turned it off the night before). I like to have a cup of coffee and stare out the window, maybe check my e-mail. I'm not too fond of strangers on the telly talking loudly at me while I'm trying to enjoy my morning.
Some people never turn the TV off. They NEVER TURN THE TV OFF. Whether nobody's watching or everybody's watching, or everybody's in the room with the TV but nobody's watching, or people are back and forth, the TV is always on, stuck on some lame show that nobody really wants to pay attention to. Despite this fact, it never occurs to somebody to turn the darn thing off! Growing up, we only turned the TV on for a couple hours a day, and watched it the whole time it was on. Then, when the show was over, or our brains had rotted enough, we turned it off.
TV is like candy or dessert. It's fun and good in small doses. In fact, I like good TV shows as much as I like movies. House, Bones, NCIS, Law and Order - they're like mini-movies that I get to watch every week. But 95% of television is total CRAP, which is why I don't understand why people want to have it on so often.
As long as I'm discussing crap, I might as well tell you about my least favorite TV channel ever: The Freakshow Channel. Whoops, I'm sorry, I meant TLC, The Learning Channel. This channel takes advantage of people's desire for fame, recognition, or even just an understanding ear, and exploits them as freaks for their differences. And we, the American population, watch them like we would the Fat Lady at the circus. Any misplaced expectation on the part of the subjects of the show that they would be understood and seen as normal through publicity is shot to hell as they are paraded around on television as DIFFERENT and WEIRD.
Anyway. That's my morning rant. Now back to my coffee.
17 November 2009
Failure (is a good thing)
I would like to apologize for the post I made earlier, if you read it before I deleted it. Regardless, I apologize. A friend had expressed a certain sentiment to me and I took it as a personal affront. The blog post that resulted from my pissiness was a whiny, asinine, foundationless retaliation to something that I probably misperceive.
God has gifted me with comprehension, memorization, and a handful of other talents. I have twisted those gifts into arrogance, superiority, a judgmental attitude, ill patience, elitism, and chip on my shoulder. As usual, humankind perverts the blessings of God to their own misconceived and often evil devices. I often call people stupid (though, mercifully, not to their faces). I get frustrated when people don't understand what I think is simple and obvious. I resent people for resenting the fact that I often blow the curve, only, while their resentment probably passes, mine builds and festers until I have a generally disdainful attitude directed at everybody that I think unjustly alienates me for being "the smart kid" - which is not something that really happens in college, but did in middle school and high school, which just shows how much I do harbor and let fester old paper cut injuries. In truth, it's most likely my arrogantly disdainful attitude that turns people away in the first place. I nurture and cultivate the presumed injury of this rift, feeding it like a carnivorous plant. I keep my distance and build walls with impressive (albeit often useless) knowledge and continue to subjugate people, taking enormous self-satisfaction in my position of lone ranger intelligensia.
In short, I fail to love enough. I fail to be patient, I fail to be humble, I fail to be vulnerable. I fail to uphold and uplift and encourage sincerely. I fail to be Christ to others.
I tell you this to admit my own brokenness, so that maybe some good will come of it. In fact, good has already come of it. God loves brokenness, because it is in our brokenness that we realize how much we need him. When we fail, God shines. He shines because he forgives us through Christ's blood, and because he uses our weaknesses for his purposes. God has no use for superheroes or perfect people. He wants wayward prodigal sons and daughters who can be reconciled to him, and who through their weakness and brokenness can show the way home to the equally wayward.
We are all broken, injured, prideful, sinful. But we are not abandoned to the unhappiness of our dark paths. "If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt, you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in."
- Isaiah 58:10-12
God has gifted me with comprehension, memorization, and a handful of other talents. I have twisted those gifts into arrogance, superiority, a judgmental attitude, ill patience, elitism, and chip on my shoulder. As usual, humankind perverts the blessings of God to their own misconceived and often evil devices. I often call people stupid (though, mercifully, not to their faces). I get frustrated when people don't understand what I think is simple and obvious. I resent people for resenting the fact that I often blow the curve, only, while their resentment probably passes, mine builds and festers until I have a generally disdainful attitude directed at everybody that I think unjustly alienates me for being "the smart kid" - which is not something that really happens in college, but did in middle school and high school, which just shows how much I do harbor and let fester old paper cut injuries. In truth, it's most likely my arrogantly disdainful attitude that turns people away in the first place. I nurture and cultivate the presumed injury of this rift, feeding it like a carnivorous plant. I keep my distance and build walls with impressive (albeit often useless) knowledge and continue to subjugate people, taking enormous self-satisfaction in my position of lone ranger intelligensia.
In short, I fail to love enough. I fail to be patient, I fail to be humble, I fail to be vulnerable. I fail to uphold and uplift and encourage sincerely. I fail to be Christ to others.
I tell you this to admit my own brokenness, so that maybe some good will come of it. In fact, good has already come of it. God loves brokenness, because it is in our brokenness that we realize how much we need him. When we fail, God shines. He shines because he forgives us through Christ's blood, and because he uses our weaknesses for his purposes. God has no use for superheroes or perfect people. He wants wayward prodigal sons and daughters who can be reconciled to him, and who through their weakness and brokenness can show the way home to the equally wayward.
We are all broken, injured, prideful, sinful. But we are not abandoned to the unhappiness of our dark paths. "If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt, you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in."
- Isaiah 58:10-12
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