Now Playing: "The American Seasons", by Mark O'Connor. Track 1, "Spring".
Several of you have asked what the answers to these questions are. I posted these questions last month before my oceanography exam. Well, here are the answers, as near as I can give them.
What is water's latent heat of melting? Of vaporization?
The latent heat of melting, when ice turns into water, is 80 calories/gram. The latent heat of vaporization, when water turns into vapor, is 540 calories/gram.
What salts are in the ocean, and how do they get there, and where do they go?
Cl- comes from volcanic gas and goes into evaporites, which are weird-looking things like stalagmites on the seafloor in shallow places.
Mg2+ comes from weathering of rocks and is stored in the seafloor.
Na+ comes from weathering of rocks and goes into salt deposits, which are kind of like evaporites.
SO4 2- comes from volcanic gas and is stored in the seafloor.
Ca 2+ comes from weathering of rocks and is used to make the shells of microorganisms. These shells actually harden and turn into chalk. They make landmasses, like the famous "white cliffs of Dover" on the English coast.
K+ comes from weathering of rocks and gets turned by bacteria into clay.
What is the degree of the angle between hydrogen molecules?
The angle is 105 degrees.
What controls seawater density?
Salinity and temperature.
What are the three layers of the ocean?
The three layers are the surface mixed layer, where oxygen is being stirred in by the waves; the pycnocline, and the deep layer, where the water is really cold.
What is the Coriolis Effect? What is Ekman Transport?
The Coriolis Effect is the apparent turning of freely-moving bodies above a rotating planet. That's why hurricanes seem to have curved paths, and that's what drives some currents. Ekman Transport is the movement of water ninety degrees away from the direction the wind is blowing.
What are the greenhouse gases?
They are carbon dioxide, ozone, CH4, N2O, and the CFCs (about which environmentalists make such a stink).
What are the gases that are disolved in the ocean?
The main ones are oxygen, carbon dioxide, and nitrogen.
Where do icebergs come from?
Icebergs are bits of glaciers that break off when the glaciers hit the ocean.
So, those are my answers to these questions.
15 November 2005
14 November 2005
weird things
Now Playing: Beethoven's Symphony No. 7, first movement.
While I was studying my Bible tonight, I noticed something really, really weird: though there wasn't any CD playing, and though the program that plays CDs was turned off, I could hear sound coming out of the speakers. Not static, but music. Somehow, the speakers are playing pop music of their own accord, and there's no way to turn it off, unless I turn off the speakers themselves. When I unplug the speakers from the computer, but leave them on, the music keeps playing. I guess there must be some sort of radio receiver in the speakers themselves that’s tuned to a particular frequency, which also happens to be the frequency of this pop radio station, though I have no idea why they would need such a receiver. So now, as I listen to this symphony, if I turn it up all the way, I can still hear the pop music clanking away in the background.
It's enough to give anyone the creeps.
Not too much happened today. Since Pocahontas class had its last official meeting last Friday, I didn't have class this morning, which was quite pleasant (several of you got e-mails as a result). This afternoon in linguistics, the professor gave us another one of his talks about how dialect is tied to power and gender. He doesn't seem to be very interested in the actual mechanics of language; he only cares about the "sociolinguistic" implications of what language you speak, and how the patterns in language get repeated in culture. This might actually be interesting if it wasn't tied to Liberal stereotypes of professors who don't care two bits for Christianity, such as this particular professor. As far as I'm concerned, why bother studying human beings if they're just a bunch of cosmological dust that evolved from slime? It seems rather morbid to study mankind as though it's just a bunch of apes in the jungle, but that's what these people do, without considering for a moment that it seems odd for the intricacies of language and culture to be spouting from a bunch of walking amoebas. I suppose that since they are amoebas, they can't realize the irony of it. *hem hem*
13 November 2005
oh, no... another picture!
Now Playing: New Song, "Psalms of Praise, Volume 2". Psalm 84A
My mother, Brother1, Daisy, and I raked a huge pile of maple leaves on Saturday. It was like raking up the blanket of the Milky Way, for the leaves were thick and shimmering like stars. The leaf pile was about three feet deep, five feet long, and three or four feet wide (I could lie in it and stretch out my arms and just barely reach the edges, and I'm about five feet tall). Daisy and I splashed around in the leaves for a long while. I buried Daisy completely. When Brother1 came to scoop up the leaves and bag them, he poked his arms into the leaf pile, and Daisy grabbed him. The whole pile shivered, but you couldn't see any of her at all. Brother1 howled that the "leaf monster" had captured him. He started to tickle her, and the pile quivered even more, until a pair of mock-tortured hands poked out of the top of the leaves. Finally, the leaves erupted, and there was Daisy, with her long, brown hair so full of them that she looked as though she'd been sleeping outside for weeks. Here we are in the leaf pile--Daisy is on the right.
12 November 2005
10 November 2005
fitting subject matter, considering the music
Now Playing: (Well, the CD is over, but most recently....) "Song of the Liberty Bell", from "Heartland", by Mark O'Connor, Edgar Meyer, Yo-Yo Ma, Bela Fleck, Sam Bush, Mike Marshall, Josh Bell, and all those other weird bluegrass people.
Here's a funny little poem.
Here's a funny little poem.
Cowboy
11/8/05
And off he clanks across the dusty field.
He pulls steers from the herd, grey backs
Jerked up and sideways, levered from the road
Of bodies. In their pen he dumps them, and
The pen’s sides shake with clattering clamor, trampled
By concrete hooves. He swings his horse around,
His brown boots glinting on the clutch. Horse’s sides
Gleam gold, well-polished. Round and round he rides,
Mesmerizing, a balanced dressage
Of steel and sleek pneumatics. His rope floats
Above dusty melee, glinting and graceful
As a brachiosaurus’s neck. When steers
Are in, he stops and cleans the gravel from
His mount’s treads. Then he walks home, the beast tethered
And crouching patiently, its snout bowed low—
Streetlights shine on asphalt, on his backhoe.
09 November 2005
Pictures, Part 3
Last, here are some pictures of the musem's grounds. The view of the museum itself is from its back, where it looks out over acres of landscape. There's a really lovely walk between great, pale purple drifts of salvia. Butterflies and bees hovered over the flowers. On the lawns under the trees, there were pieces of "public art", stranded like metal leaves in the grass. Most of them weren't very aesthetically pleasing, at least to our tastes. My mother pointed out that the retaining wall along the shallow creek was much more artful, being carefully constructed, than the random chunks of metal dotting the grass.
Pictures, Part 2
These are photographs of the musem's interior. Since it was once a mansion, it's a very grand building. Its architecture is that of an Italian Renaissance villa. Everything is carefully and ornately decorated, and everything is set in careful symmetry and order. The stained-glass window here is a picture of Dante seeing Beatrice for the first time.
thanks to my mother's request: Pictures, Part 1
Last Saturday, Rachel, my mother, and I visited an art museum in the town where Rachel and I attend college. The art museum is an old mansion surrounded with beautiful gardens. My mother requested that I post some of the pictures I took.
Here are pictures of four of the paintings themselves. Of course, the gallery has lots more. There are some excellent portraits, and a collection of old altarpieces from medieval times, and a gallery of Japanese screens, and a gallery of Chinese pottery.
This painting is of Cossacks in Siberia. I wrote a poem about it as my audition piece for the summer writing camp. There's a gallery of Romantic and semi-Impressionist paintings at the start of the museum, which is one of my favorite galleries. It has pastoral scenes, including one of a rough-faced, placid peasant girl escorting her sheep into a barn.
This is a pen-and-ink sketch. My grandfather owned a sailboat that looked a lot like this one, only a little bit smaller.
The entrance to the museum is a big rotunda. The dome goes up for two stories, and at its zenith is a round skylight. Directly under the skylight on the floor of the entry area below is a Rodin sculpture of Adam. On the second floor, there is a circular gallery that runs around the edge of the rotunda. The paintings in this gallery are modern still-lifes. There are some beautiful, photorealistic paintings of plants: gaudy, dewy roses; golden, full-bodied rosehips, and this one, of irises. There was also a hideous painting of a nest with two eggs in it, while the decayed corpses of the parent birds lay sprawled beside the nest. Their featherless bones stretched like scratches on the canvas. It was a painting of utter hopelessness and futility, and very gruesome to look at.
The museum also has a gallery of ancient art: an Etruscan bronze mirror with delicate etchings; a serene-faced Egyptian sarcophagus; battered Roman denarii. There were also several pieces of Greek pottery, among them this little jar. It thrilled Rachel and me greatly because the pieces of pottery were from the exact time period that we've been studying in Honors class. One of them was fired when Pericles was preaching his funeral oration to the Athenians in the midst of the Peloponnesian War. It gave me shivers to think that these same vessels are ones that were touched and handled by those distant, great men that we've read about and discussed in class.
Here are pictures of four of the paintings themselves. Of course, the gallery has lots more. There are some excellent portraits, and a collection of old altarpieces from medieval times, and a gallery of Japanese screens, and a gallery of Chinese pottery.
This painting is of Cossacks in Siberia. I wrote a poem about it as my audition piece for the summer writing camp. There's a gallery of Romantic and semi-Impressionist paintings at the start of the museum, which is one of my favorite galleries. It has pastoral scenes, including one of a rough-faced, placid peasant girl escorting her sheep into a barn.
This is a pen-and-ink sketch. My grandfather owned a sailboat that looked a lot like this one, only a little bit smaller.
The entrance to the museum is a big rotunda. The dome goes up for two stories, and at its zenith is a round skylight. Directly under the skylight on the floor of the entry area below is a Rodin sculpture of Adam. On the second floor, there is a circular gallery that runs around the edge of the rotunda. The paintings in this gallery are modern still-lifes. There are some beautiful, photorealistic paintings of plants: gaudy, dewy roses; golden, full-bodied rosehips, and this one, of irises. There was also a hideous painting of a nest with two eggs in it, while the decayed corpses of the parent birds lay sprawled beside the nest. Their featherless bones stretched like scratches on the canvas. It was a painting of utter hopelessness and futility, and very gruesome to look at.
The museum also has a gallery of ancient art: an Etruscan bronze mirror with delicate etchings; a serene-faced Egyptian sarcophagus; battered Roman denarii. There were also several pieces of Greek pottery, among them this little jar. It thrilled Rachel and me greatly because the pieces of pottery were from the exact time period that we've been studying in Honors class. One of them was fired when Pericles was preaching his funeral oration to the Athenians in the midst of the Peloponnesian War. It gave me shivers to think that these same vessels are ones that were touched and handled by those distant, great men that we've read about and discussed in class.
08 November 2005
Aristotelian spiders
Now Playing: Beethoven's "Symphony No. 7", first movement.
In Honors class today, we were discussing Aristotle's "Poetics", in which he sets out some of his views on what makes a good tragedy, what the characteristics of a good play should be, etc. At the start of the discussion, Whitney and Zoe complained that the "Poetics" is far too rigid and black-and-white. As usual, though, Dr. G managed to work it into the "grey are" (where there are no absolutes) and show that it's not very definitive after all. (I've observed that Dr. G likes absolutes about as much as Zoe and Whitney do, but he's cunning enough always to fit any apparent absolute into the "grey area".)
Anyhow, Dr. G was trying to illustrate the Aristotelian concept of a beginning for us. For Aristotle, a beginning is that which doesn't have an apparent cause but which naturally leads to other events. As he was in the midst of this deep philosophical conjecture, Morgan, sitting near the other end of the table, started to flail her hands wildly. (Morgan is a very blonde girl, in every sense of the word.) This made Dr. G stop. Morgan smacked one of her books onto the table in front of her, and one of her pens flew over her shoulder.
"Now, you see, that's a perfect example of an Aristotelian beginning. Morgan starts flailing her arms for no apparent reason. The flailing of the arms leads to a pen being thrown. It has a natural result."
Morgan looked up sheepishly. "It was a spider. I'm terrified of spiders," she mumbled.
"That had to be the smallest spider I've ever seen!" one of the boys laughed derisively.
"Hey, when I was a kid, I woke up once with a spider on my face, and I couldn't sleep for weeks afterward!" Morgan protested.
"You see, a beginning doesn't have to have an apparent cause, but later, a cause may come out, such as that Morgan is terrified of spiders," Dr. G explained. "And now we see that a beginning leads to natural consequences, including a pen being thrown and a professor blathering on about Aristotelian arachnids."
"The spider just fell out of the air in front of me!" Morgan protested.
"Arachne ex machina," Dr. G sighed, and everyone laughed.
For a while, the class was busy giggling over theories of whether the building was invaded by spiders, and whether an enormous spider was going to jump through the classroom door and eat Morgan.
"They're coming to get me!" Morgan whimpered.
"Ok, ok!" Dr. G said finally. "I will teach, and I will continue to teach, no matter what!"
We all went back to paying attention until later, when another spider appeared crawling on Zoe's notebook. She gently tore a bit of paper off and carried the spider outside.
The discussion flowed on for a while, and we were in the midst of a heated debate over the definition of telos in Aristotle when the classroom door suddenly opened a couple of inches, then silently shut again. Dr. G paused.
Into the silence, I whispered, "It's the big spider!"
Dr. G had a hard time quelling the uproar that followed, I'm afraid.
Rachel grinned at me in complete surprise. "Oh, that was genius!" Whitney chortled, and the boy that had teased Morgan earlier growled in a sinister voice, "Is Morgan here?", impersonating, I suppose, the unseen arachnid, while Morgan sat, trembling, in her chair, and everyone else (including Dr. G) turned pink with laughter.
In Honors class today, we were discussing Aristotle's "Poetics", in which he sets out some of his views on what makes a good tragedy, what the characteristics of a good play should be, etc. At the start of the discussion, Whitney and Zoe complained that the "Poetics" is far too rigid and black-and-white. As usual, though, Dr. G managed to work it into the "grey are" (where there are no absolutes) and show that it's not very definitive after all. (I've observed that Dr. G likes absolutes about as much as Zoe and Whitney do, but he's cunning enough always to fit any apparent absolute into the "grey area".)
Anyhow, Dr. G was trying to illustrate the Aristotelian concept of a beginning for us. For Aristotle, a beginning is that which doesn't have an apparent cause but which naturally leads to other events. As he was in the midst of this deep philosophical conjecture, Morgan, sitting near the other end of the table, started to flail her hands wildly. (Morgan is a very blonde girl, in every sense of the word.) This made Dr. G stop. Morgan smacked one of her books onto the table in front of her, and one of her pens flew over her shoulder.
"Now, you see, that's a perfect example of an Aristotelian beginning. Morgan starts flailing her arms for no apparent reason. The flailing of the arms leads to a pen being thrown. It has a natural result."
Morgan looked up sheepishly. "It was a spider. I'm terrified of spiders," she mumbled.
"That had to be the smallest spider I've ever seen!" one of the boys laughed derisively.
"Hey, when I was a kid, I woke up once with a spider on my face, and I couldn't sleep for weeks afterward!" Morgan protested.
"You see, a beginning doesn't have to have an apparent cause, but later, a cause may come out, such as that Morgan is terrified of spiders," Dr. G explained. "And now we see that a beginning leads to natural consequences, including a pen being thrown and a professor blathering on about Aristotelian arachnids."
"The spider just fell out of the air in front of me!" Morgan protested.
"Arachne ex machina," Dr. G sighed, and everyone laughed.
For a while, the class was busy giggling over theories of whether the building was invaded by spiders, and whether an enormous spider was going to jump through the classroom door and eat Morgan.
"They're coming to get me!" Morgan whimpered.
"Ok, ok!" Dr. G said finally. "I will teach, and I will continue to teach, no matter what!"
We all went back to paying attention until later, when another spider appeared crawling on Zoe's notebook. She gently tore a bit of paper off and carried the spider outside.
The discussion flowed on for a while, and we were in the midst of a heated debate over the definition of telos in Aristotle when the classroom door suddenly opened a couple of inches, then silently shut again. Dr. G paused.
Into the silence, I whispered, "It's the big spider!"
Dr. G had a hard time quelling the uproar that followed, I'm afraid.
Rachel grinned at me in complete surprise. "Oh, that was genius!" Whitney chortled, and the boy that had teased Morgan earlier growled in a sinister voice, "Is Morgan here?", impersonating, I suppose, the unseen arachnid, while Morgan sat, trembling, in her chair, and everyone else (including Dr. G) turned pink with laughter.
06 November 2005
more pictures
Now Playing: a Father Gilbert mystery, "A Soul in Torment".
Here are some photos of my dorm room.
Here are some photos of my dorm room.
04 November 2005
quiz
Here are my results to some of the quizzes SwanElf posted on her blog. Read, and laugh.
You are 'Latin'. Even among obsolete skills, the tongue of the ancient Romans is a real anachronism. With its profusion of different cases and conjugations, Latin is more than a language; it is a whole different way of thinking about things.
You are very classy, meaning that you value the classics. You value old things, good things which have stood the test of time. You value things which have been proven worthy and valuable, even if no one else these days sees them that way. Your life is touched by a certain 'pietas', or piety; perhaps you are even a Stoic. Nonetheless, you have a certain fascination with the grotesque and the profane. Also, the modern world rejects you like a bad transplant. Your problem is that Latin has been obsolete for a long time.
You are the Sad Queen! Somber, quiet, softspoken and yet beautiful, you hold your subjects in awe of your silent but forceful nature. You are jaded and tired of this world because you are so different from everyone else.Possible Name: Tristyn Element: Shadow Color: Grey
SPIRITUAL BEAUTY - You are calm, peaceful, and content. Introverted and quiet you know everything about yourself. You never speak without thinking and every decision you make is well thought out. Since you know yourself so well you aware of your strengths and your shortcomings, which gives you the advantage of easily learning from your mistakes and improving yourself quickly. You may or may not be religious. If you are religious your faith and convictions are solid and no one can sway you from your beliefs.
Quiet, Smart Girl - You're the quiet girl that hardly anybody notices, and only talks to when they're failing a class and need to copy from someone. You probably hate it, but you also probably enjoy any attention that you can get. You're remarkably inteligent and very studious, but also very quiet and reserved. Your cold, mysterious appearance can be intimidating, an attribute that drives people away.
Your element is air. You are quiet and reserved. Extremely intelligent you love learning and love to explore things. Mysteries intrigue you to no end. You are a loner and quite content to spend hours and hours by yourself, reading or thinking. Complex and enigmatic most people tend to shy away from you. You don't seem to notice them however, and prefer doing things your own way. You can be very emotional though and insecure, fearing other people and what they might think of you. You would be best matched with Darkness and Water.
03 November 2005
Bonny Swans... right now!
Now Playing: "The Mask and Mirror" by Loreena McKennitt. Track 2, "The Bonny Swans".
Here's the rest of it. Now you won't be bored, Vinca! :) (Or maybe you will be. Beware of flowery writing!) This has got to be a record, though: three posts in one day. Exceptionally long posts, too, and (what's worse) on an exceptionally busy day. Where has all my supposedly-famed discipline gone?!
After lunch, I went up to my room, intending to put together a few last-minute things before my flute lesson. However, I left my door ajar, and A.C. burst in. She gave me an exuberant hug and told me that she's doing very well in one of her classes, which is making her happy. We chatted about history for awhile. She told me that she could easily envision me going to Jerusalem and digging up evidence for "what you believe" (that's how she phrased it--she won't take Christ's name on her lips). Playing along, I pointed out that it's "interesting" that Christ arrived just at the right time to have the greatest impact, just when the Roman Empire was ensuring peace and good communication across an incredible section of the world.
Flute lesson went well. After, I walked over to Zink Hall to meet with Dr. G about revising my Herodotus paper. I sat in trepidation for awhile outside his office, for the door was fast shut despite the fact that it was his office hour. Computer keys rattled from offices down the hall, and voices murmured in one room. Through Dr. G's closed door, I could hear delicate piano music playing from a CD. At last, I summed up the courage to knock. "Oh, hello," he said in his cultured, slightly nasal voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you," I apologized. "No, no. Sorry I didn't have my door open. I was so immersed in what I was doing that I didn't even realize it. Please, have a seat," he replied. I sat down and slid my paper across the table to him. "Hello, paper," he said humorously. "I'd like you to tell me what you think of it, and how I can make it better," I said shyly. He sat and read it over carefully, scribbling comments with a pencil stub. I gazed out the window at the bending, bronze-edged oak trees. The windows of the anthropology building across the way reflected the turquoise sky and the tossing trees like eyes. I sat quietly, smiling to myself, remembering the times when my siblings and I had had to go up to my father's office. He had usually let us draw with chalk on the green chalkboard in his room, and we had covered it, as high as we could reach, with dragons and tanks and flowers and horses and cats. I toyed in my mind with how my own office will look, if I should ever become a professor, and noticed idly that Dr. G's window was the open one: as I'd walked up to Zink, I had noticed that there was only one window open in the whole building, and it was his. The silence rustled gently, noise caressing. At last, Dr. G looked up. "This is really good," he said. "It's at leastan A minus paper." He showed me some editorial things I needed to clean up, and then went over a couple of places where I could add some evidence. "Any more questions?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "I seem to be plagued with A minuses in this class. Is there anything I can do to make that better?" He chuckled. "A perfectionist," he said. "Let me tell you a story. When I was a sophomore in college, I went to the TA of one of my English classes and spent a long time arguing with him over the grade of my paper. I finally managed to get him to concede the points of my argument. 'By the way,' the TA said, 'what grade did you make on that paper?' 'An A minus,' I replied. 'Get out of my office!' the TA roared." We both laughed, but he kindly went on to explain to me what he was looking for, and to make some complimentary statements about my work.
I flew out of Zink on angel's wings.
As I walked to Tyrrell Hall to practice my flute, I sang to myself, Psalm after Psalm, my heart "overflowing with a good theme". Practicing my flute somewhat deflated my joy. I think I should keep playing the flute, just to keep myself humble: it can be so frustrating! Just as I think I've learned a piece, or just as I'm about to perform it, I start to crack notes, slip on fingerings, lose all sense of rhythm. It's incredibly frustrating. I channeled my overwhelming joy into trying to force myself to get the Saint-Saens piece right (which I never really did).
Then I went running. The wind was very strong while I ran, buffeting me from the south-southwest. Strands of hair streamed from my head like the trees' auburn leaves flying above me. Back in my room, I fiddled with my Herodotus paper revision for a bit. At 5:30, I padded downstairs to the basement. Tonight was a free-dinner night: chili and cinnamon rolls. The basement echoed with laughter and high-pitched conversation. The whole dorm reeked of chili powder, beans, icing, and cinnamon. Bethany, Tara, Alisha, Julie, Katie, and Kathryn were all there, among many others. I stood and chatted with Tara about classes. Tay joined our conversation. She's a young woman from RUF who's in a wheelchair. She's about the size of an overweight six-year-old, and her voice is very squeaky. Her head is hunched back on her crooked shoulders. However, her mental capacity is unimpaired, and she's majoring in Philosophy. Bethany described to us the sophisticated watergun fights that she and her friends are having. They carry their waterguns with them everywhere, like spies in enemy territory, and shoot each other sneakily. Whoever gets shot is "dead". Apparently, they used to take their guns even into the cafeteria, but when the official of Housing and Dining accidentally got caught in the line of fire one day, they decided to declare the cafeteria an armistice zone.
After supper, I spent an hour-and-a-half revising my Herodotus paper. My brain is completely fried, but I still have to read Aristotle's Poetics for next Honors class and also to study for the Major British Writers exam on Tuesday. Oh, dear.
And there's another Honors paper to consider, a story to work on, a poem to write, two "World" magazines to read, and my room to clean, and a shower to take, and devotions to do, and prayers to make... let alone sleep! Woo hoo.
Here's the rest of it. Now you won't be bored, Vinca! :) (Or maybe you will be. Beware of flowery writing!) This has got to be a record, though: three posts in one day. Exceptionally long posts, too, and (what's worse) on an exceptionally busy day. Where has all my supposedly-famed discipline gone?!
After lunch, I went up to my room, intending to put together a few last-minute things before my flute lesson. However, I left my door ajar, and A.C. burst in. She gave me an exuberant hug and told me that she's doing very well in one of her classes, which is making her happy. We chatted about history for awhile. She told me that she could easily envision me going to Jerusalem and digging up evidence for "what you believe" (that's how she phrased it--she won't take Christ's name on her lips). Playing along, I pointed out that it's "interesting" that Christ arrived just at the right time to have the greatest impact, just when the Roman Empire was ensuring peace and good communication across an incredible section of the world.
Flute lesson went well. After, I walked over to Zink Hall to meet with Dr. G about revising my Herodotus paper. I sat in trepidation for awhile outside his office, for the door was fast shut despite the fact that it was his office hour. Computer keys rattled from offices down the hall, and voices murmured in one room. Through Dr. G's closed door, I could hear delicate piano music playing from a CD. At last, I summed up the courage to knock. "Oh, hello," he said in his cultured, slightly nasal voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you," I apologized. "No, no. Sorry I didn't have my door open. I was so immersed in what I was doing that I didn't even realize it. Please, have a seat," he replied. I sat down and slid my paper across the table to him. "Hello, paper," he said humorously. "I'd like you to tell me what you think of it, and how I can make it better," I said shyly. He sat and read it over carefully, scribbling comments with a pencil stub. I gazed out the window at the bending, bronze-edged oak trees. The windows of the anthropology building across the way reflected the turquoise sky and the tossing trees like eyes. I sat quietly, smiling to myself, remembering the times when my siblings and I had had to go up to my father's office. He had usually let us draw with chalk on the green chalkboard in his room, and we had covered it, as high as we could reach, with dragons and tanks and flowers and horses and cats. I toyed in my mind with how my own office will look, if I should ever become a professor, and noticed idly that Dr. G's window was the open one: as I'd walked up to Zink, I had noticed that there was only one window open in the whole building, and it was his. The silence rustled gently, noise caressing. At last, Dr. G looked up. "This is really good," he said. "It's at leastan A minus paper." He showed me some editorial things I needed to clean up, and then went over a couple of places where I could add some evidence. "Any more questions?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "I seem to be plagued with A minuses in this class. Is there anything I can do to make that better?" He chuckled. "A perfectionist," he said. "Let me tell you a story. When I was a sophomore in college, I went to the TA of one of my English classes and spent a long time arguing with him over the grade of my paper. I finally managed to get him to concede the points of my argument. 'By the way,' the TA said, 'what grade did you make on that paper?' 'An A minus,' I replied. 'Get out of my office!' the TA roared." We both laughed, but he kindly went on to explain to me what he was looking for, and to make some complimentary statements about my work.
I flew out of Zink on angel's wings.
As I walked to Tyrrell Hall to practice my flute, I sang to myself, Psalm after Psalm, my heart "overflowing with a good theme". Practicing my flute somewhat deflated my joy. I think I should keep playing the flute, just to keep myself humble: it can be so frustrating! Just as I think I've learned a piece, or just as I'm about to perform it, I start to crack notes, slip on fingerings, lose all sense of rhythm. It's incredibly frustrating. I channeled my overwhelming joy into trying to force myself to get the Saint-Saens piece right (which I never really did).
Then I went running. The wind was very strong while I ran, buffeting me from the south-southwest. Strands of hair streamed from my head like the trees' auburn leaves flying above me. Back in my room, I fiddled with my Herodotus paper revision for a bit. At 5:30, I padded downstairs to the basement. Tonight was a free-dinner night: chili and cinnamon rolls. The basement echoed with laughter and high-pitched conversation. The whole dorm reeked of chili powder, beans, icing, and cinnamon. Bethany, Tara, Alisha, Julie, Katie, and Kathryn were all there, among many others. I stood and chatted with Tara about classes. Tay joined our conversation. She's a young woman from RUF who's in a wheelchair. She's about the size of an overweight six-year-old, and her voice is very squeaky. Her head is hunched back on her crooked shoulders. However, her mental capacity is unimpaired, and she's majoring in Philosophy. Bethany described to us the sophisticated watergun fights that she and her friends are having. They carry their waterguns with them everywhere, like spies in enemy territory, and shoot each other sneakily. Whoever gets shot is "dead". Apparently, they used to take their guns even into the cafeteria, but when the official of Housing and Dining accidentally got caught in the line of fire one day, they decided to declare the cafeteria an armistice zone.
After supper, I spent an hour-and-a-half revising my Herodotus paper. My brain is completely fried, but I still have to read Aristotle's Poetics for next Honors class and also to study for the Major British Writers exam on Tuesday. Oh, dear.
And there's another Honors paper to consider, a story to work on, a poem to write, two "World" magazines to read, and my room to clean, and a shower to take, and devotions to do, and prayers to make... let alone sleep! Woo hoo.
Chariots of Fire... almost, but not yet
Now Playing: "Chariots of Fire" soundtrack by Vangelis. Track 1: "Titles".
This track is one of my favorite pieces of music, despite the synthesizer, which I usually don't like. My father burned this CD for me from an old vinyl LP that he had. When he gave it to me that first evening, he also told me some news that made me begin to realize the pain of growing up and not belonging where I had thought, all my childhood, that I belonged. As soon as he left my room, I put the CD into my player and turned up the volume. That poignant, indomitable theme swept me away into tears, tears that sparkled pale gold in the setting sun streaming through my window. Now, as I listen, I remember, in the midst of my heartache, that no matter where I am, my home is in my Heavenly Father (as one of my friends recently reminded me). There is no going back, but the best is yet to come. It lies ahead. And even if I don't attain it riding in chariots of fire, I will get there someday, and be at peace at last. That is what my heart longs for, and He has promised me that I will not be disappointed.
So, for today.
I stayed up way too late this morning/last night. Rachel and I ate breakfast together this morning, which left me only fifteen minutes to get across campus to oceanography class (at a brisk trot, I can tell you). In oceanography, we studied waves. We didn't get our exams back from last Thursday, but he assured us that we'd have them on Tuesday.
On my way out of oceanography, I once again picked up a quick canter to get to British Writers on time. On my way, I passed Liz, one of the girls who's in oceanography and a friend of Alisha's. (Alisha is an RUF girl--solidly Christian, sweet, quiet, plays the violin. What more could you ask for? :) Liz was strolling down the sidewalk. I slowed as I passed her. "Where are you going next?" I asked. "To art history," she replied dreamily. "I'm just taking my time, enjoying watching the trees change colors. I've never really seen them do that before." (She's from Houston.) As I went on my way, I, too, slowed down a little bit, my appreciation of the vivid crimson, gold, and bronze sharpened by Liz's own quiet appreciation.
In Major British Writers, we looked at Andrew Marvell and John Donne, both poets of the mid 1600's. We read Marvell's poem, "Bermudas", which is a psalm of praise from a group of English pilgrims arriving in the New World. Dr. S impressed on us the vividness and awesomeness of the New World after the dreariness of England and the three-month voyage across the Atlantic. "Imagine holding an orange in the middle of an English winter and biting into it. What an explosion of taste!" she said. She reminded us, also, that the New World was seen as a new Eden by some people, and thought of a Promised Land to be conquered and lived in.
Our discussion in Honors today got off slowly. For one thing, Dr. G mistakenly thought that Zoe was supposed to lead the discussion today. She wasn't. He raised his eyebrows when he realized this, paused, and then plunged into a lecture about how to write good papers. This took half-an-hour. Several people (among them a girl from the Pocahontas class) complained about the bad writing instruction they'd had. The class was rather slap-happy, and some comments made everyone, including Dr. G, burst into unquenchable laughter. Dan snidely suggested that, since we're all having such trouble writing about complicated subjects, perhaps the Honors program should start off with less philosophical works, "Say, for example Old Yeller." This made Dr. G laugh more than ever. The rest of us laughed, too, but more (I would venture to say) at Dr. G than at Dan's comment.
Once the discussion actually got off the ground, though, it was quite interesting. We're studying Greek drama, and now we're on "Oedipus the King", "Oedipus Rex" being, as Dr. G said, an oxymoron since it is formed from one Greek and one Latin word. He also was kind enough to point out that "Oedipus" is not pronounced with a short "e" at the beginning (a short "e" as in "bed"), but instead a long "e", as in "sheep". (Am I sleepy, or what? :) We talked about sympathy vs. empathy. Sympathy is feeling pity or compassion for someone's suffering, while empathy is actually feeling what the sufferer is feeling. We talked about surprise vs. suspense. Surprise is when you didn't know what would happen, and suspense is when you know what will happen, but you don't know how (Dr. G claims that suspense is a concept that Hitchcock got from Sophocles, the author of "Oedipus the King").
After class, Rachel and I walked briskly to lunch together. We sat with Jenny and Tara during lunch. (Both RUF girls. Have I introduced them to you all yet? Jenny is a tall, muscular girl with fair skin, very blond hair, a deep voice, and an infectious laugh. She's always the core of the conversation. Tara is Jenny's roommate. She's a petite, slender little girl, about the size of Daisy, with short, brown hair, and deep brown eyes. The corners of her mouth and the tip of her nose always seem to be turning up, like a mouse's.) Jenny found a couple of friends of hers from the rowing team to chat with, so Rachel, Tara, and I struck up a conversation together. Thanks to "Oedipus", it became deeply philosophical. Rachel is fascinated with the Aristotelian idea that we sympathize most with tragic characters who share our flaws. We understand them because we, too, have their problems. Also, as soon as we read about their demise (such as Oedipus in Sophocles's play and Nicias, an Athenian general who meets a tragic fate, in Thucydides's history), we immediately begin to try to figure out why their lives were so horrible. Rachel suggested that this is because humans always like to have logical reasons for the way the world works, and also because we like to think to ourselves, "Oh, because such-and-such happened to him, and not to me, my life won't be as terrible." Once we've found a reason for their demise, we can feel ourselves safe because that same sequence of events won't happen to us (or so we think). I wonder if this could be tied to a trend I've noticed in modern culture. It struck me this past Monday. I saw a sign reading, "Have a safe Halloween". Normally, you'd expect such a sign to read, "Have a happy Halloween". But it didn't. Perhaps we're seeing a shift in our culture away from the idea of happiness as an ideal; instead, safety and security have become ideals. Perhaps people have begun to feel unstable and insecure, and so instead of happiness are seeking safety. Perhaps this was at the back of Sophocles's mind, too, as he wrote his play. For if you are an old man whose parents are already dead, though you may share Oedipus's failings, you can feel quite safe in the knowledge that no such dreadful things are going to happen to you.
To be continued....
This track is one of my favorite pieces of music, despite the synthesizer, which I usually don't like. My father burned this CD for me from an old vinyl LP that he had. When he gave it to me that first evening, he also told me some news that made me begin to realize the pain of growing up and not belonging where I had thought, all my childhood, that I belonged. As soon as he left my room, I put the CD into my player and turned up the volume. That poignant, indomitable theme swept me away into tears, tears that sparkled pale gold in the setting sun streaming through my window. Now, as I listen, I remember, in the midst of my heartache, that no matter where I am, my home is in my Heavenly Father (as one of my friends recently reminded me). There is no going back, but the best is yet to come. It lies ahead. And even if I don't attain it riding in chariots of fire, I will get there someday, and be at peace at last. That is what my heart longs for, and He has promised me that I will not be disappointed.
So, for today.
I stayed up way too late this morning/last night. Rachel and I ate breakfast together this morning, which left me only fifteen minutes to get across campus to oceanography class (at a brisk trot, I can tell you). In oceanography, we studied waves. We didn't get our exams back from last Thursday, but he assured us that we'd have them on Tuesday.
On my way out of oceanography, I once again picked up a quick canter to get to British Writers on time. On my way, I passed Liz, one of the girls who's in oceanography and a friend of Alisha's. (Alisha is an RUF girl--solidly Christian, sweet, quiet, plays the violin. What more could you ask for? :) Liz was strolling down the sidewalk. I slowed as I passed her. "Where are you going next?" I asked. "To art history," she replied dreamily. "I'm just taking my time, enjoying watching the trees change colors. I've never really seen them do that before." (She's from Houston.) As I went on my way, I, too, slowed down a little bit, my appreciation of the vivid crimson, gold, and bronze sharpened by Liz's own quiet appreciation.
In Major British Writers, we looked at Andrew Marvell and John Donne, both poets of the mid 1600's. We read Marvell's poem, "Bermudas", which is a psalm of praise from a group of English pilgrims arriving in the New World. Dr. S impressed on us the vividness and awesomeness of the New World after the dreariness of England and the three-month voyage across the Atlantic. "Imagine holding an orange in the middle of an English winter and biting into it. What an explosion of taste!" she said. She reminded us, also, that the New World was seen as a new Eden by some people, and thought of a Promised Land to be conquered and lived in.
Our discussion in Honors today got off slowly. For one thing, Dr. G mistakenly thought that Zoe was supposed to lead the discussion today. She wasn't. He raised his eyebrows when he realized this, paused, and then plunged into a lecture about how to write good papers. This took half-an-hour. Several people (among them a girl from the Pocahontas class) complained about the bad writing instruction they'd had. The class was rather slap-happy, and some comments made everyone, including Dr. G, burst into unquenchable laughter. Dan snidely suggested that, since we're all having such trouble writing about complicated subjects, perhaps the Honors program should start off with less philosophical works, "Say, for example Old Yeller." This made Dr. G laugh more than ever. The rest of us laughed, too, but more (I would venture to say) at Dr. G than at Dan's comment.
Once the discussion actually got off the ground, though, it was quite interesting. We're studying Greek drama, and now we're on "Oedipus the King", "Oedipus Rex" being, as Dr. G said, an oxymoron since it is formed from one Greek and one Latin word. He also was kind enough to point out that "Oedipus" is not pronounced with a short "e" at the beginning (a short "e" as in "bed"), but instead a long "e", as in "sheep". (Am I sleepy, or what? :) We talked about sympathy vs. empathy. Sympathy is feeling pity or compassion for someone's suffering, while empathy is actually feeling what the sufferer is feeling. We talked about surprise vs. suspense. Surprise is when you didn't know what would happen, and suspense is when you know what will happen, but you don't know how (Dr. G claims that suspense is a concept that Hitchcock got from Sophocles, the author of "Oedipus the King").
After class, Rachel and I walked briskly to lunch together. We sat with Jenny and Tara during lunch. (Both RUF girls. Have I introduced them to you all yet? Jenny is a tall, muscular girl with fair skin, very blond hair, a deep voice, and an infectious laugh. She's always the core of the conversation. Tara is Jenny's roommate. She's a petite, slender little girl, about the size of Daisy, with short, brown hair, and deep brown eyes. The corners of her mouth and the tip of her nose always seem to be turning up, like a mouse's.) Jenny found a couple of friends of hers from the rowing team to chat with, so Rachel, Tara, and I struck up a conversation together. Thanks to "Oedipus", it became deeply philosophical. Rachel is fascinated with the Aristotelian idea that we sympathize most with tragic characters who share our flaws. We understand them because we, too, have their problems. Also, as soon as we read about their demise (such as Oedipus in Sophocles's play and Nicias, an Athenian general who meets a tragic fate, in Thucydides's history), we immediately begin to try to figure out why their lives were so horrible. Rachel suggested that this is because humans always like to have logical reasons for the way the world works, and also because we like to think to ourselves, "Oh, because such-and-such happened to him, and not to me, my life won't be as terrible." Once we've found a reason for their demise, we can feel ourselves safe because that same sequence of events won't happen to us (or so we think). I wonder if this could be tied to a trend I've noticed in modern culture. It struck me this past Monday. I saw a sign reading, "Have a safe Halloween". Normally, you'd expect such a sign to read, "Have a happy Halloween". But it didn't. Perhaps we're seeing a shift in our culture away from the idea of happiness as an ideal; instead, safety and security have become ideals. Perhaps people have begun to feel unstable and insecure, and so instead of happiness are seeking safety. Perhaps this was at the back of Sophocles's mind, too, as he wrote his play. For if you are an old man whose parents are already dead, though you may share Oedipus's failings, you can feel quite safe in the knowledge that no such dreadful things are going to happen to you.
To be continued....
Praise!
Now Playing: Nothing! Are you kidding?! I have way too much work to do!
Yes, I stayed up till midnight. Twelve forty-five, actually. You see, as soon as the clock struck twelve, all the freshman in the universe (it would seem) attempted to enroll, and the poor computer couldn't handle it. So it crashed for thirty minutes. When I finally got on (in a state of drowsy frustration), I was able to enroll for all my classes except the Honors section that Rachel and I were going to take together. Too sleepy to argue, I left it until this morning, when I fired off a bambi-eyed-and-haloed e-mail to my advisor, pleading with him to get me into this particular section. I ate breakfast with Rachel, and it turned out that she hadn't been able to enroll either, so I was rather downcast, but hopeful, too--at least we'd both be forced to take the same section.
When I returned to my room after lunch, I decided to go ahead and enroll in the unwanted Honors section. I'd received an e-mail from my advisor saying that he couldn't help me but would talk to the dean and see what he could do. So, I enrolled myself in the unwanted section. But when I clicked on my course schedule, I realized to my shock and surprise that I was enrolled for eighteen hours. "Good grief," I thought to myself. "I should only have fifteen! I'll if I have to take eighteen!" I looked more closely at the schedule and noticed that the hours for the Honors class at the top of the list were the wrong hours--they were the hours for the full class that I'd wanted, not the class that I was being forced into. Smelling a rat, I put the schedule to closer scrutiny, and realized that the eighteen hours and the weird meeting time were the result of the fact that I was enrolled in two Honors sections: one taught by the desired professor, Dr. H, and one taught by the unwanted professor, Dr. A.
And so, sending up great praises to my Father (and some smaller praises to His tools, my advisor and the dean-with-the-magic-wand), I dropped Dr. A's section and settled back into my day with a placid, fat-cat smile on my face. My one reservation is that I'm afraid Rachel won't be able to get into this section--we'll see. If she doesn't, I'm not sure what I'll do, but that's a bridge to worry about later.
There's way, way, way more that I need to say about today. Lots of interesting ideas in Honors, and from discussions over lunch, and a funny story from Dr. G. But I need to practice my flute, revise a paper, and read, read, read.
Solus Studius, as Mr. Y at church would say.
Yes, I stayed up till midnight. Twelve forty-five, actually. You see, as soon as the clock struck twelve, all the freshman in the universe (it would seem) attempted to enroll, and the poor computer couldn't handle it. So it crashed for thirty minutes. When I finally got on (in a state of drowsy frustration), I was able to enroll for all my classes except the Honors section that Rachel and I were going to take together. Too sleepy to argue, I left it until this morning, when I fired off a bambi-eyed-and-haloed e-mail to my advisor, pleading with him to get me into this particular section. I ate breakfast with Rachel, and it turned out that she hadn't been able to enroll either, so I was rather downcast, but hopeful, too--at least we'd both be forced to take the same section.
When I returned to my room after lunch, I decided to go ahead and enroll in the unwanted Honors section. I'd received an e-mail from my advisor saying that he couldn't help me but would talk to the dean and see what he could do. So, I enrolled myself in the unwanted section. But when I clicked on my course schedule, I realized to my shock and surprise that I was enrolled for eighteen hours. "Good grief," I thought to myself. "I should only have fifteen! I'll if I have to take eighteen!" I looked more closely at the schedule and noticed that the hours for the Honors class at the top of the list were the wrong hours--they were the hours for the full class that I'd wanted, not the class that I was being forced into. Smelling a rat, I put the schedule to closer scrutiny, and realized that the eighteen hours and the weird meeting time were the result of the fact that I was enrolled in two Honors sections: one taught by the desired professor, Dr. H, and one taught by the unwanted professor, Dr. A.
And so, sending up great praises to my Father (and some smaller praises to His tools, my advisor and the dean-with-the-magic-wand), I dropped Dr. A's section and settled back into my day with a placid, fat-cat smile on my face. My one reservation is that I'm afraid Rachel won't be able to get into this section--we'll see. If she doesn't, I'm not sure what I'll do, but that's a bridge to worry about later.
There's way, way, way more that I need to say about today. Lots of interesting ideas in Honors, and from discussions over lunch, and a funny story from Dr. G. But I need to practice my flute, revise a paper, and read, read, read.
Solus Studius, as Mr. Y at church would say.
02 November 2005
"the oldest joke"
Now Playing: "Not All who Wander Are Lost", by Chris Thile. Track 1, "Song for a Young Queen".
It turned out on Halloween night that I did not shut myself in my room. Instead, I ate supper with Rachel. The cafeteria was even crazier by night than it had been by day. I saw a boy dressed as Peter Pan, down to knife and panpipes. There was a girl dressed as a nurse, wearing only a flimsy white slip with a big red cross painted on the chest. Cafeteria cooks were dressed as doctors, cowboys--even a Hershey's kiss! Everyone seemed to have gone mad. Sitting and chatting with Rachel, though, I considered the reason behind all the craziness, and my thoughts turned to Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night", which we recently read in Major British Writers. "Twelfth Night" has the theme of carnival, the ritual overturning of conventions with a time of brief feasting and celebration. In the Catholic calendar, Twelfth Night was the night when the Magi supposedly visited Christ. It was a time of masquerade and frolicking. Servants ordered their masters around; boys were crowned king or pope. Our culture has no such set times of carnival, and so perhaps it has turned to Halloween as an excuse. Of course, we cannot neglect the fact that festivals such as Twelfth Night and Halloween are linked with pagan customs, such as the Roman Saturnalia and Celtic devil-worship. However, there could be something deeper going on. It seems inherent in human nature to seek masquerade. Perhaps this has to do with the "oldest joke", as Rachel called it, quoting from C.S. Lewis: the fact that human beings, who have immortal souls, also possess mortal bodies. Bodies seem so ridiculously clumsy and burdensome compared to souls. Our bodies are almost like masks for our souls (don't worry; I'm not turning into a Gnostic here). But you cannot "pretend" with a soul the way you can with a body. A soul is what it is; there is no covering it. Bodies can change, can be hidden, can be transformed. Maybe the human love of play-acting is part of all this. Perhaps it is a looking-forward to the time when we will no longer have to masquerade, but we will "be known even as we are known". After all, Christ Himself took the form of a Man, though for Him what might appear to be masquerade is actually reality, and He, being divine, truly became human. Anyhow, these were some of the things that crossed my mind as I sat, shrinking, in the midst of the noisy cafeteria.
After supper, Rachel persuaded me to go with her to a talk by Charles Martin, an African-American writer. He seemed quite knowledgeable, but also (if I may say so) rather too focused on his own achievements. He quoted his own books as basis for his talk, and he constantly mentioned the contests he'd won, editorial boards he'd been on, etc. But he had some interesting ideas about storytelling. There were a couple of young girls in the audience who were positively star-struck over him. It was rather funny, especially since, had I not heard them say their ages, I would've thought they were in their early twenties. Their clothing was sophisticated, their hair perfectly combed, their hoop earrings impeccably shiny. When they started to talk, though, they sounded quite ditzy, and when Mr. Martin asked them their age, they giggled that they were only fifteen. Later, during the question-and-answer session, Rachel and I nearly jumped out of our skins when Dr. G's lazy voice came out of mid-air behind us. He'd come in after we had, and had taken a chair directly behind Rachel's. As soon as we heard him, we both sat up straighter and stopped fidgeting so much. *grins*
After the talk, Rachel and I went up to my room, where we watched the short clips about the making of the new Narnia movie. Whenever the "real" story was mentioned, we both sighed, as star-struck as the silly girls at the lecture. Rachel didn't much like it when the director said that his job is to "exceed imagination". I myself think they've gone a bit slap-happy with their computers. These huge battle scenes, which are far bigger than the ones in the book, appear to my mind to be showcases for their sleek new toys.
So, that was the end of Monday.
Tuesday, there was no oceanography class. I sat around and read depressing Greek drama ("Oedipus Rex") and complicated British metaphysical poetry (Andrew Marvell).
In linguistics today, a lesson on patterns in human thought. All through class, ther was such a racket from the roofers working overhead that Dr. L could hardly be heard. A fine, yellowish powder sifted from the vibrating ceiling. Whenever there was a particularly loud hammering, Dr. L would pause and pull a face so comical that it was har dnot to laugh. Kendall Hall, where linguistics is held, always reeks of evil to me (its main purpose is to be a home for the theatre department). It's a dark, asymmetrical building, built at the height of Modern architecture, with few windows. All the rooms and hallways seem jumbled together, without any right angles or reason. The colors are all wrong: greyish white, faded blue, watery black, dirty orange. It smells musty. It seems as though all the people inside it hate God and enjoy hating Him as fully as possible.
This evening when I ran, I passed the university-run elementary school. A bunch of kids were playing soccer on the lawn outside the school. Off to one side, two girls, a clarinetist and a flutist, were playing duets. Their music was pure and plain. As the sun set, the sky turned the stormy blue of a wind-tossed lake, with clouds churned up on its surface like whitecaps or drifts of dark, fallen leaves.
Tonight (or rather, tomorrow morning) at midnight, freshman get to enroll. So... I have dutifully decided to stay up until 12:01 precisely. Which means that there may be more than one post on here this evening. Not very likely, though. Last night, a strange thing happened to me: I dreamed a story. Just one brief scene from a story, and while I woke up and got dressed, it was still with me, ongoing and vivid, so I embroidered on it in my mind. I shall have to see where it takes me. Nowhere, most likely, but it has promise to spin out into some sort of weird science fiction/fantasy yarn (yes, that was a bad pun :).
It turned out on Halloween night that I did not shut myself in my room. Instead, I ate supper with Rachel. The cafeteria was even crazier by night than it had been by day. I saw a boy dressed as Peter Pan, down to knife and panpipes. There was a girl dressed as a nurse, wearing only a flimsy white slip with a big red cross painted on the chest. Cafeteria cooks were dressed as doctors, cowboys--even a Hershey's kiss! Everyone seemed to have gone mad. Sitting and chatting with Rachel, though, I considered the reason behind all the craziness, and my thoughts turned to Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night", which we recently read in Major British Writers. "Twelfth Night" has the theme of carnival, the ritual overturning of conventions with a time of brief feasting and celebration. In the Catholic calendar, Twelfth Night was the night when the Magi supposedly visited Christ. It was a time of masquerade and frolicking. Servants ordered their masters around; boys were crowned king or pope. Our culture has no such set times of carnival, and so perhaps it has turned to Halloween as an excuse. Of course, we cannot neglect the fact that festivals such as Twelfth Night and Halloween are linked with pagan customs, such as the Roman Saturnalia and Celtic devil-worship. However, there could be something deeper going on. It seems inherent in human nature to seek masquerade. Perhaps this has to do with the "oldest joke", as Rachel called it, quoting from C.S. Lewis: the fact that human beings, who have immortal souls, also possess mortal bodies. Bodies seem so ridiculously clumsy and burdensome compared to souls. Our bodies are almost like masks for our souls (don't worry; I'm not turning into a Gnostic here). But you cannot "pretend" with a soul the way you can with a body. A soul is what it is; there is no covering it. Bodies can change, can be hidden, can be transformed. Maybe the human love of play-acting is part of all this. Perhaps it is a looking-forward to the time when we will no longer have to masquerade, but we will "be known even as we are known". After all, Christ Himself took the form of a Man, though for Him what might appear to be masquerade is actually reality, and He, being divine, truly became human. Anyhow, these were some of the things that crossed my mind as I sat, shrinking, in the midst of the noisy cafeteria.
After supper, Rachel persuaded me to go with her to a talk by Charles Martin, an African-American writer. He seemed quite knowledgeable, but also (if I may say so) rather too focused on his own achievements. He quoted his own books as basis for his talk, and he constantly mentioned the contests he'd won, editorial boards he'd been on, etc. But he had some interesting ideas about storytelling. There were a couple of young girls in the audience who were positively star-struck over him. It was rather funny, especially since, had I not heard them say their ages, I would've thought they were in their early twenties. Their clothing was sophisticated, their hair perfectly combed, their hoop earrings impeccably shiny. When they started to talk, though, they sounded quite ditzy, and when Mr. Martin asked them their age, they giggled that they were only fifteen. Later, during the question-and-answer session, Rachel and I nearly jumped out of our skins when Dr. G's lazy voice came out of mid-air behind us. He'd come in after we had, and had taken a chair directly behind Rachel's. As soon as we heard him, we both sat up straighter and stopped fidgeting so much. *grins*
After the talk, Rachel and I went up to my room, where we watched the short clips about the making of the new Narnia movie. Whenever the "real" story was mentioned, we both sighed, as star-struck as the silly girls at the lecture. Rachel didn't much like it when the director said that his job is to "exceed imagination". I myself think they've gone a bit slap-happy with their computers. These huge battle scenes, which are far bigger than the ones in the book, appear to my mind to be showcases for their sleek new toys.
So, that was the end of Monday.
Tuesday, there was no oceanography class. I sat around and read depressing Greek drama ("Oedipus Rex") and complicated British metaphysical poetry (Andrew Marvell).
In linguistics today, a lesson on patterns in human thought. All through class, ther was such a racket from the roofers working overhead that Dr. L could hardly be heard. A fine, yellowish powder sifted from the vibrating ceiling. Whenever there was a particularly loud hammering, Dr. L would pause and pull a face so comical that it was har dnot to laugh. Kendall Hall, where linguistics is held, always reeks of evil to me (its main purpose is to be a home for the theatre department). It's a dark, asymmetrical building, built at the height of Modern architecture, with few windows. All the rooms and hallways seem jumbled together, without any right angles or reason. The colors are all wrong: greyish white, faded blue, watery black, dirty orange. It smells musty. It seems as though all the people inside it hate God and enjoy hating Him as fully as possible.
This evening when I ran, I passed the university-run elementary school. A bunch of kids were playing soccer on the lawn outside the school. Off to one side, two girls, a clarinetist and a flutist, were playing duets. Their music was pure and plain. As the sun set, the sky turned the stormy blue of a wind-tossed lake, with clouds churned up on its surface like whitecaps or drifts of dark, fallen leaves.
Tonight (or rather, tomorrow morning) at midnight, freshman get to enroll. So... I have dutifully decided to stay up until 12:01 precisely. Which means that there may be more than one post on here this evening. Not very likely, though. Last night, a strange thing happened to me: I dreamed a story. Just one brief scene from a story, and while I woke up and got dressed, it was still with me, ongoing and vivid, so I embroidered on it in my mind. I shall have to see where it takes me. Nowhere, most likely, but it has promise to spin out into some sort of weird science fiction/fantasy yarn (yes, that was a bad pun :).
31 October 2005
All Hallow's Eve
Now Playing: "Symphony No. 9", by Antonin Dvorak. Movement 4, Allegro con fuoco. (My mother always says that this is an "alternate" soundtrack to the "Lord of the Rings".)
I guess I should post on here, but I'm not sure exactly what to say. The days blend together monotonously, like listening to variations on the same song over and over again.
When people ask me how my week went, I'm never sure what to tell them. For me, moments of ecstasy or moments of sorrow tend to be so intense that they don't happen very often, and everything in between them is very bland, very drab (though, by virtue of the human life, the moments of despair are usually more frequent than the moments of grandeur). There might be one week out of the month, and one day out of that week, that was truly glorious: I can think of one earlier this October when my mother and one of my friends surprised me. There might be a couple days out of the month that were truly terrible: last Monday, when one of my professors ridiculed every principle I believe in, was such a day. Occasionally, during a week or during a day, there will be moments of "epiphany": times when I'm walking between classes and the wind has a certain smell, or the sky is just the right shade of blue, or a monarch butterfly floats by. Those times are so ephemeral that they're hard to pin down. They're like shooting stars: there's so much blackness around them and they pass so quickly that it's hard to grasp them. People would think I was crazy if I told them, "Oh, on Tuesday, while I was walking back to my dorm after RUF, the wind blew in the oak trees, with the stars glittering above them, and it sounded just like the sea. It almost made me cry, it was so lovely." There are plenty of "nice" times or "uncomfortable" times, but not usually things that grab my attention: the big things are infrequent, and the small things are very personal so that it's harder to enumerate them to someone who asks, "How was your week?"
Anyhow, I'll try to give some account of today, at least. This morning, it was raining when I woke up. I love rainy days, so that was actually pleasant. After practicing my flute, I spent the morning working on homework: finishing linguistics homework, reading the book for Pocahontas class, and writing an Honors lecture review. For the Honors class, there are four lectures that the students are required to attend outside class. Three of these lectures are taught by the Honors professors themselves. This particular lecture was given by Dr. G, my teacher, so I'm a bit nervous about reviewing his lecture. He spoke on Greek drama, described it, and tried to reason through some of its functions in Greek society. It was a really interesting talk. At one point, he played a recording of a fragment of a chorus set to music from a Greek play. The recording was based on interpretation of a snippet of papyrus found wrapped around a mummy, which had been inscribed with musical notations and instructions for singing to accompany one of Euripides's plays. The music was rather discordant, but in an orderly manner, and not harsh. It was a lament for the demise of a kingdom, and the singers' voices wailed plaintively, spiraling upward through the clashing chords.
In Pocahontas class today, we discussed Ramona, a book about an Indian-Mexican girl living in the 1800's and all the trials she went through. The book was written in the 1800's. It's incredibly racist, with a peculiar reverse racism: the Indians are wise saints, the Mexicans are thieves, and the Americans are stupid and cruel.
Since today is Halloween, a lot of students are dressed up. At breakfast this morning, I saw a girl dressed as a fat black cat. One of the cooks this morning had covered her regulation hair net with a witch's cone-shaped hat. Two girls came to class in costume today: one dressed in a bright yellow captain's uniform with an enormous plastic sabre slung at her side, and the other dressed in 1980's clothes, jarring and rumpled. Her beads and bangles jangled as she walked. As I walked to lunch after class, I saw a girl dressed as Legolas (yes, I know--Legolas is a male character, after all!), complete with dove-colored leather boots and a shiny green cape. In the cafeteria, there were lots of costumes: a girl in a devil uniform, a boy in a pumpkin suit, another boy in a tiger suit, a man dressed as a ghost. One guy was costumed as Jesus, with flowing white gown and red sash. Someone said that this chap had been chatting with two of his friends. "Have a good day," he said as they left. "No, wait," he called. With a superior tone, he said, "I'll talk to my dad. I know you'll have a good day." (!!!!) Another chap dressed as a monk, while yet another wore the heavy, brown robes of a jedi straight out of "Star Wars". A pair of boys wore felt hats--one wore a king's crown, and his friend had on a jester's cap-and-bells. At lunch, one of my friends told me that she'd dressed up as Catharine von Bora last Saturday at an RUF event, in honor of Reformation Day.
During linguistics class, the professor discussed the idea that the philosophy of patterns in language can also be used to look for patterns in culture. He tried to make the case that the "Wizard of Oz" and the "first" "Star Wars" movie are really the same movie, just paraphrases of the same story--something about how both Dorothy and Luke have to deal with hating their parents, which seems to me to be a pretty minor theme of both movies (though I've never seen the "Wizard of Oz", and it's been a very, very long time since "Star Wars").
Pale evening sunlight filters through my west window and glows in the mirror across from the window. The clouds have begun to break. They float like grey ice over a washed-out, aquamarine sky. The maple tree outside my window burns crimson. I've been working on writing poetry and e-mails--since I didn't give myself much time for that last week, I thought I'd do some today. The dorm smells weird: either burning rice, coffee, or cigarette smoke. I should go and run. Should. It will get dark fast tonight, so if I run, I'll have to go now. After supper tonight, I'm going to cloister myself in my room. I do not like Halloween.
27 October 2005
not my writing!
Now playing: "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring", soundtrack by Howard Shore. Track 15, "The Great River". (This is one of my very favorite tracks. I love the choir elegy at the beginning--so sad and stately, and then later on I love how the music curves and swirls, like the cliffs and the river, and the Ring itself.)
In a hurry... here's John Donne's famous meditation, "For Whom the Bell Tolls". Obviously, I didn't write this (it's much too good!). But it's a wonderful little piece of work. When I sat in on a class at a different college last year, the professor was talking about this meditation, and ever since then I've been trying to find a copy of it. John Donne makes some excellent points, and he does so in a way that you won't be able to forget. Maybe later I'll write something about why I like this thing, but I think that after you'll read it, you'll understand.
"For Whom the Bell Tolls", by John Donne.
From "Devotions upon Emergent Occasions" (1623), XVII: Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris - "Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die." PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.
The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all.
When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.
And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another.
As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.
There was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest.
If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.
The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours.
Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.
If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels.
Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.
Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.
In a hurry... here's John Donne's famous meditation, "For Whom the Bell Tolls". Obviously, I didn't write this (it's much too good!). But it's a wonderful little piece of work. When I sat in on a class at a different college last year, the professor was talking about this meditation, and ever since then I've been trying to find a copy of it. John Donne makes some excellent points, and he does so in a way that you won't be able to forget. Maybe later I'll write something about why I like this thing, but I think that after you'll read it, you'll understand.
"For Whom the Bell Tolls", by John Donne.
From "Devotions upon Emergent Occasions" (1623), XVII: Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris - "Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die." PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.
The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all.
When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.
And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another.
As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.
There was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest.
If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.
The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours.
Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.
If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels.
Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.
Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.
25 October 2005
tags and nothing worthwhile
Now Playing: "Gollum's Song", from "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" soundtrack, by Howard Shore.
I should be studying oceanography, but obviously, I'm not. Violin and SwanElf seem to think people need to be tagged. So.... here are the ten songs that I'm listening to, in rough order of importance:
1. Psalm 84
2. Beethoven's 7th symphony, especially the 2nd movement (I listened to the symphony twice with the volume turned up REALLY loud last night.)
3. "Into the West" from " The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" soundtrack by Howard Shore
4. Mark O'Connor's string quartet
5."Dance the Baby/Slip Jig Set" by Cathie Ryan
6. "Learn to be Lonely" from the "Phantom of the Opera" soundtrack by Andrew Lloyd Weber
7. "I Cannot See His Color" from "The Village" soundtrack by James Newton Howard
8. "Overture" from the "Peter Pan" soundtrack by James Newton Howard
9. "Ode to a Butterfly" by Nickel Creek
10. "Out of the Woods" by Nickel Creek
Tag to Daisy and Brother2!
Today I met with my advisor to discuss spring enrollment. I'm having something of a crisis right now: On Monday, I auditioned for the university band. After meeting the conductor and hearing some of the things he said, my instincts tell me not to join the band. (Apparently, the band has only one concert, and it's going to be supplemented by a highschool band for that concert--!!) Also, I'm not sure that I can take the time committment. However, I really want to play in an ensemble. I keep telling myself that I should just wait and try again next year, but I'm all confused.... The first rehearsal is tomorrow. If I want to play in the band, I'll have to skip lunch on Wednesdays (and probably Mondays and Fridays later in the semester). Being a hobbit, that idea does not greatly appeal to me!
Oh, now I'm listening to the ROTK soundtrack--track 3. Gandalf and Pippin riding into Minas Tirith! Music to stir the heart. :)
Answer these questions:
What is water's latent heat of melting? Of vaporization?
What salts are in the ocean, and how do they get there, and where do they go?
What is the degree of the angle between hydrogen molecules?
What controls seawater density?
What are the three layers of the ocean?
What is the Coriolis Effect? What is Ekman Transport?
What are the greenhouse gases?
What are the gases that are disolved in the ocean?
Where do icebergs come from?
Yep, those are a few of the things (the "tip of the iceberg", pun intended) that I have to know for the exam. Most of the questions are easy, common-knowledge questions, though when it comes to naming specific salts/gases, and where they go, and where they come from, it's a little bit harder to keep from getting confused.
Today for Honors I read "Lysistrata" by Aristophanes. If anyone ever tells you it's a good play, run for your life, because it's not. It's full of crude jokes and nasty humor. It's very discouraging whenever I encounter crudity in academic circles. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Greek dramatists--it's considered to be "highbrow" and "elite" if you can use and understand foulness. I hate it with a passion. People mock innocence. They see naivete as something foolish. But whenever I think of my friends and siblings being exposed to such filth, my heart cringes. I wish I could be like Aragorn and guard my little land from such horror, or really be like Frodo and die to protect it. Once you lose your innocence, no joke is ever completely "clean" again. Once you lose your purity, you can never get it back. It's agonizing to have to sit through this stuff, and to hear it staunchly defended and lauded and enjoyed by your peers and professors. I want to shout, "You're talking like orcs! You don't understand!", but they wouldn't be able to hear....
I should be studying oceanography, but obviously, I'm not. Violin and SwanElf seem to think people need to be tagged. So.... here are the ten songs that I'm listening to, in rough order of importance:
1. Psalm 84
2. Beethoven's 7th symphony, especially the 2nd movement (I listened to the symphony twice with the volume turned up REALLY loud last night.)
3. "Into the West" from " The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" soundtrack by Howard Shore
4. Mark O'Connor's string quartet
5."Dance the Baby/Slip Jig Set" by Cathie Ryan
6. "Learn to be Lonely" from the "Phantom of the Opera" soundtrack by Andrew Lloyd Weber
7. "I Cannot See His Color" from "The Village" soundtrack by James Newton Howard
8. "Overture" from the "Peter Pan" soundtrack by James Newton Howard
9. "Ode to a Butterfly" by Nickel Creek
10. "Out of the Woods" by Nickel Creek
Tag to Daisy and Brother2!
Today I met with my advisor to discuss spring enrollment. I'm having something of a crisis right now: On Monday, I auditioned for the university band. After meeting the conductor and hearing some of the things he said, my instincts tell me not to join the band. (Apparently, the band has only one concert, and it's going to be supplemented by a highschool band for that concert--!!) Also, I'm not sure that I can take the time committment. However, I really want to play in an ensemble. I keep telling myself that I should just wait and try again next year, but I'm all confused.... The first rehearsal is tomorrow. If I want to play in the band, I'll have to skip lunch on Wednesdays (and probably Mondays and Fridays later in the semester). Being a hobbit, that idea does not greatly appeal to me!
Oh, now I'm listening to the ROTK soundtrack--track 3. Gandalf and Pippin riding into Minas Tirith! Music to stir the heart. :)
Answer these questions:
What is water's latent heat of melting? Of vaporization?
What salts are in the ocean, and how do they get there, and where do they go?
What is the degree of the angle between hydrogen molecules?
What controls seawater density?
What are the three layers of the ocean?
What is the Coriolis Effect? What is Ekman Transport?
What are the greenhouse gases?
What are the gases that are disolved in the ocean?
Where do icebergs come from?
Yep, those are a few of the things (the "tip of the iceberg", pun intended) that I have to know for the exam. Most of the questions are easy, common-knowledge questions, though when it comes to naming specific salts/gases, and where they go, and where they come from, it's a little bit harder to keep from getting confused.
Today for Honors I read "Lysistrata" by Aristophanes. If anyone ever tells you it's a good play, run for your life, because it's not. It's full of crude jokes and nasty humor. It's very discouraging whenever I encounter crudity in academic circles. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Greek dramatists--it's considered to be "highbrow" and "elite" if you can use and understand foulness. I hate it with a passion. People mock innocence. They see naivete as something foolish. But whenever I think of my friends and siblings being exposed to such filth, my heart cringes. I wish I could be like Aragorn and guard my little land from such horror, or really be like Frodo and die to protect it. Once you lose your innocence, no joke is ever completely "clean" again. Once you lose your purity, you can never get it back. It's agonizing to have to sit through this stuff, and to hear it staunchly defended and lauded and enjoyed by your peers and professors. I want to shout, "You're talking like orcs! You don't understand!", but they wouldn't be able to hear....
24 October 2005
a picture
Oh, look! I can post pictures. This is from home, Sabbath afternoon--one of the last blazes of zinnias before frost. You can't see her, but Mandy was prowling around in the garden. While I was taking pictures, she stalked through the bell pepper jungle, then flopped over in the dust behind the zinnias and started to roll around. We took a family picture that afternoon, too. My mother held Mandy, who protested loudly by yowling the whole time. In the picture, Mandy has a scared and insulted look on her furry face. The zinnias that afternoon were full of butterflies. My brother photographed a beautiful monarch butterfly, but there were lots of the little, velvety brown variety. I cut some zinnias, and the little brown butterflies were so thick that they landed on the flowers that I'd cut as I held them in my hand and sipped the nectar, oblivious to me.
21 October 2005
flu shot, music, movies, and (more) Calvinism--in other words, nothing of particular interest
Now Playing: "The Sorcerer's Apprentice", Paul Dukas. (This is one of those crowd-pleasers. It's fun to listen to, very melodramatic, but doesn't have much deep meaning. While I listen, I like to make up the story that goes with it in my head. I have two whole CD's of "story" music--a hodgepodge of music scrambled together from a variety of composers; music that I like, not for its greatness or technical difficulty (though there are a couple of Vaughan-Williams pieces that are technically difficult and incredibly lovely), but for the stories that I make up when I listen to the pieces.)
Today after linguistics I walked to the "health center" (which is neither in the center of campus nor very healthy, being a place where sick people go) for a flu shot. Both the secretaries were complete ditzes who were discussing what costumes they should wear to their boyfriend's costume party. One of them was planning to go as a bumblebee. *hem* The nurse who actually gave the shot was nice enough, though the wound bled rather more than usual.
Afterwards I biked around campus for awhile. I also explored a bit into the neighborhoods around campus. There are lots of peculiar little old houses, similar to the ones on the street where I used to live when I was much younger: the houses are all jumbled together, with long, lanky bungalows, Mexican-style adobe houses, English cottages, and Victorian mansions stacked together on postage-stamp-sized lots. The houses were all comfortably scruffy--old trees, tall grass, thick gardens wild with autumn weeds. Elm leaves scurried down the street as I jounced over the uneven sidewalk, my chain rattling.
Here are some "crime reports" from the weekly campus paper (I've slightly paraphrased them):
"Security was dispatched to the parking lot to investigate a vehicle burglary. Entry into the vehicle was by prying open the rear wing window. After entering the car, the person unknown stole a CD player, a Bible, 150 various CDs and a check book." (Why on earth would anyone steal a Bible? And why would someone keep 150 CDs in their car?)
"A security officer was dispatched to the Student Center to investigate a theft. A picture that had been hanging inside the building had been stolen. The poster, depicting how to dress and not to dress for an interview, had been hanging near the south doors of the building." (So the thief wanted to make sure he dressed properly for his next interview--though I suspect he'll need a poster saying something about how to dress for the courtroom instead!)
"Security officers were dispatched to an apartment in response to complaints of a domestic disturbance. Officers ascertained that a female and a male had been in an altercation. The female (why isn't she a woman?) told the officers that her boyfriend (why was he her boyfriend in the first place?) had kicked in the door of her vehicle (what a kick!) making it inoperable, and had thrown her cellphone at her." *cough*
Oh, here's something much more important that you all are probably wondering about. As most of you know, last week the professor of my "Pocahontas" class gave a rather scathing critique of Calvinism. On Wednesday, I talked to her about it, and she invited me to give a more positive side of the issue in class this morning. My father sent me some information to help me, and I put it together into a short paragraph. In class this morning, we were supposed to watch a movie ("Pocahonts 2"), and the professor asked me to talk while everyone was getting ready to watch the movie. As a result, people were somewhat distracted, but it went as well as could be expected--no objections, no arguments. One girl actually passed me a note as the movie started, saying, "You did a great job--thanks for speaking up!", which lightened my heart a great deal.
In case you were wondering, the movie wasn't very good. Disney--blech. The professor brought her small daughter to class with her. The little girl hid under the professor's desk at first, but soon came out and began to order the students around. It was quite comical. During the movie, she perched on her mother's lap and whispered confidential comments to the students sitting nearest her. She insisted that she wasn't scared and announced that she "likes to fool people". She reminded me a lot of Lydia M., and made me miss her a great deal.
That's probably enough for now. The leader of the RUF Bible study I'm in has invited the girls in the study to her house to watch a movie tonight. I have no idea what the movie will be (hopefully not "Pocahontas 2"!), but it will be good to get off campus for awhile.
Today after linguistics I walked to the "health center" (which is neither in the center of campus nor very healthy, being a place where sick people go) for a flu shot. Both the secretaries were complete ditzes who were discussing what costumes they should wear to their boyfriend's costume party. One of them was planning to go as a bumblebee. *hem* The nurse who actually gave the shot was nice enough, though the wound bled rather more than usual.
Afterwards I biked around campus for awhile. I also explored a bit into the neighborhoods around campus. There are lots of peculiar little old houses, similar to the ones on the street where I used to live when I was much younger: the houses are all jumbled together, with long, lanky bungalows, Mexican-style adobe houses, English cottages, and Victorian mansions stacked together on postage-stamp-sized lots. The houses were all comfortably scruffy--old trees, tall grass, thick gardens wild with autumn weeds. Elm leaves scurried down the street as I jounced over the uneven sidewalk, my chain rattling.
Here are some "crime reports" from the weekly campus paper (I've slightly paraphrased them):
"Security was dispatched to the parking lot to investigate a vehicle burglary. Entry into the vehicle was by prying open the rear wing window. After entering the car, the person unknown stole a CD player, a Bible, 150 various CDs and a check book." (Why on earth would anyone steal a Bible? And why would someone keep 150 CDs in their car?)
"A security officer was dispatched to the Student Center to investigate a theft. A picture that had been hanging inside the building had been stolen. The poster, depicting how to dress and not to dress for an interview, had been hanging near the south doors of the building." (So the thief wanted to make sure he dressed properly for his next interview--though I suspect he'll need a poster saying something about how to dress for the courtroom instead!)
"Security officers were dispatched to an apartment in response to complaints of a domestic disturbance. Officers ascertained that a female and a male had been in an altercation. The female (why isn't she a woman?) told the officers that her boyfriend (why was he her boyfriend in the first place?) had kicked in the door of her vehicle (what a kick!) making it inoperable, and had thrown her cellphone at her." *cough*
Oh, here's something much more important that you all are probably wondering about. As most of you know, last week the professor of my "Pocahontas" class gave a rather scathing critique of Calvinism. On Wednesday, I talked to her about it, and she invited me to give a more positive side of the issue in class this morning. My father sent me some information to help me, and I put it together into a short paragraph. In class this morning, we were supposed to watch a movie ("Pocahonts 2"), and the professor asked me to talk while everyone was getting ready to watch the movie. As a result, people were somewhat distracted, but it went as well as could be expected--no objections, no arguments. One girl actually passed me a note as the movie started, saying, "You did a great job--thanks for speaking up!", which lightened my heart a great deal.
In case you were wondering, the movie wasn't very good. Disney--blech. The professor brought her small daughter to class with her. The little girl hid under the professor's desk at first, but soon came out and began to order the students around. It was quite comical. During the movie, she perched on her mother's lap and whispered confidential comments to the students sitting nearest her. She insisted that she wasn't scared and announced that she "likes to fool people". She reminded me a lot of Lydia M., and made me miss her a great deal.
That's probably enough for now. The leader of the RUF Bible study I'm in has invited the girls in the study to her house to watch a movie tonight. I have no idea what the movie will be (hopefully not "Pocahontas 2"!), but it will be good to get off campus for awhile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)