Another chapter draws to a close...

Well, it's almost here...the end of another semester, a time to reflect on time spent, money spent, and energy expended...and of course I have a few things to say about it.

First: I find the lack of continuity in the quality of my university instruction to be frustrating at best and absolutely tragic at worst. I understand that some of my instructors are literal geniuses in their chosen fields, but I find that unfortunately that does not automatically translate into these instructors being able to teach. It is one thing to know the material inside out, and another to be able to get a class of 20 people engaged in it. It pains me to witness first-hand that the money I am spending on my education is, in some cases, being thrown away due to substandard instruction. Gone are the days of every class having something tangible in it that makes it exciting or mentally stimulating, and the days of trying to decipher genius-level babble that emanates from certain instructors mouths have arrived. I find it troubling that university professors are not observed by administration or their peers, and that their only review of their progress comes from student surveys that are filled out at the end of the semester and are not an at all accurate depiction of the professor's teaching ability for a number of reasons.
I expected upon entering university that I would be required to do a lot of self-teaching in the sense that I should be reading and researching material on my own time and outside the purview of the class syllabus. However, I did not expect that in select classes I would be paying the government for me to teach myself fully...I am not a teacher or any sort, and it is not my job to initiate and lead class discussion, or to engage other students to the texts that we are assigned, or to basically teach the class in order to fully attain a level of my own understanding.
Oh well, I realize that not every class with be like this, and that I have met, and will continue to meet, wonderful instructors who will challenge me and teach me in a way that allows me to leave the class with a much more enriched idea of the subject that when I started, but that isn't a reality quite yet.
Anyway, that's it for now

Still Frustrated in St. Paul

Age

I looked down at my hands tonight and saw not youth, but papery, scaly mitts, scarred by time, sunlight, manual labor, and cold. I'm 34, but to look at the backs of my hands you'd think I was much older. It's interesting that I've hit a point in my life at which the signs of almost constant stress, bad habits, and environmental trauma are beginning to manifest themselves in my physical appearance. My hair has decided that rather than remain in place on my head that it would prefer to leave the northern climes and reside on my back. That's not cool. I don't want to be nappy back-hair bald guy, but perhaps that's my lot in life. It seems that every morning expedition to leave the womb-like warmth and security of my bed is getting to be much more difficult than it used to be. Oh, and something new always aches every morning; this morning for instance it was my right ankle, not sure why? all I did yesterday was walk around like a normal human being.

Oh well, another day, another creaking joint, and possibly a stomach ulcer that is enjoying remaining at the limits of my pain tolerance...

Until the next one...

Getting Older in St. Paul

A Limerick for Paddy

There once was a woman from India,
who bored and confused students of literature,
Until one night, with all of their might,
they revolted and said "we're not in to ya".

Extended Similies are like really long similies

Sometimes I wonder if Lit analysis with a class full of English majors is like watching paint dry. It seems to me that there are always a few people in any given class that feel that it is their duty to bore the rest of us fucking senseless with their inane attempts at wit. In truth, all it ends up accomplishing is making them look like a fucktard. Newsflash: sometimes a poem about a red wheelbarrow is just a poem about a red wheelbarrow, not some convoluted attempt at philosophical contemplation about a fucking motive society, or the end of days...

I get tired of people who like to hear themselves talk; write a fucking blog, at least we can choose to ignore it then. In class it's a different story, I can't concentrate on zoning out when your scratchy high-pitched adolescent voice scythes it's way into my inner ear, and imprints itself onto my brain in a vain attempt to somehow gain my approval of the drivel emanating from your face hole. Give it a fucking rest, and sit back and listen; you might learn something from someone who has something to say that's of merit. That is possibly a concept that may be alien to you, but people grow up eventually.

Anyway, now that I feel terrible for sinking to the level of outright contempt for another human, I think I'll sign off.....

Until next time, which if you're keeping track will be a few months....

Frustrated in St. Paul

The List

To Whom it may concern,

I write to you from a position of weakness. I fnd myself mired in a sense of stagnation. Every time I look at the mountain it seems to be just as high as the last time I looked at it, yet I've worked to lessen that gap, and nothing happens. I have a list, and this list has on it some words. These words arrange themselves into a meaningful sentence that explains exactly how much pain, both mental and physical, is left before the walking of the clown shoes. The afore mentioned list, no matter how many times I am able to "strikethrough" elements within it, never seems to get any shorter. Is it me? Is there a medical reason for it? Or is it that I have a fucking boatload of work, and I'm just dragging my ass through it at subsonic speeds? Do I even care? Does any of it even exist? Shit balls.

So anyway, I've just noticed a paradox. By posting to this poor excuse of a blog, I've, in fact, taken away time from the completion of the list. It's like a snake eating his own tail, it tastes good until you get to the head.

Fuck my life.

Night.

A new path...

The time draws near, and change is on the horizon. I'm leaving my yesterdays behind, and embarking on a new journey. A step into the unknown, the unfathomable; riddled with innate fear, and just a touch of apprehension. Yet, it is my path; one that I must tread with confidence while never taking my focus away from the goal. Wish me luck.

Finally got some recognition....

Boo Yah!!! Um, let me re-phrase that....

Yay!

I got some recognition; in the form of Outstanding Student for the 2010-2011 Academic year at Saint Paul College. Not sure what it actually means, but I get a free lunch.

I actually really appreciate it.

Now, only about a month of pain left; oh, but then there's several years of more pain....

Yesterday I wanted it to be tomorrow, and today I wanted my money back.

I would really like to believe that I am creative enough to maintain a blog that anyone would take out a moment of their day to read, but I am not about to delude myself.

If a level of continuing creativity and quality in my blog were necessary to save the planet from a hostile alien takeover, then we'd be fucked.

Is it even possible for there to be a point to the rambles, the shameless attempts at humor, or the accurate description of self-banality?

No; that would be the answer.

Greetings,

Me.