Rant about the mundane and seemingly useless

I suppose this is a form of glorified complaining but I'm going to do it anyway (despite my half-hearted attempts at trying to reducing such drivel).

So I'm taking this American Literature class. It's pretty much early American Lit - from Puritan writings to I think Emily Dickenson and Walt Whitman (whatever era they're supposed to be).

There's a lot that could be gleaned from these writings, I'm sure. Have I gotten anything from this class? No.

What's the format of the class? You read the text. You answer these ridiculous, tedious, time-consuming but mind-numbing questions that simply confirm whether or not you understood the text, or what you think the significance of something is (What do you think the forest symbolizes in Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown?).  These are the types of questions you give to middle-high school students to get them to think about the text. You can bullshit your way through these questions. And I mean the latter question is better. It at least requires some thought. However, there's no deeper analysis, no deeper thinking. There's no analytical slant (e.g. how would you look at the text from a feminist point of view? Marxist? Historical? And so on.). So from this point, you're like, well the questions may be tedious but they can't be that bad. They're to ensure that the students have read the text so that when the class discussion takes place using the questions as a starting point, the professor can ensure an engaging and in-depth discussion about the text. That would be so ideal.

Instead, what is it?

Professor: "So... From the homework, #1. 'Describe Anne Bradstreet's life.' What did the text say?"
Student 1: "Well, the book said [insert random facts from text]."
Professor: "Okay. Anyone has anything else to add to that? Okay! Number two...."

And so the class goes on. Where's the discussion?! -_- Answering questions about what the text is about, something that was painstakingly done at home, is simply regurgitated back in class. There's no point to the class.

I call the class uninspired. Everyone's bored. I could do a better job teaching the class. Once, I asked about how the text related to the author. "How religious was Hawthorne?" Professor's answer?

"What did your book say?"

What?! I mean okay, yes, this is a very large overview of American Literature and we live in an era where degrees are extremely specific so the professor may not know. However, if you're teaching the class, wouldn't you know a little more than whatever's in the freaking book? I mean really?

I suppose it's unfair of me to say that I expect the professor to do extra reading on what we're reading in class when he 's probably got a ton of other things going on - other classes to teach, papers to grade and all that. However! I keep getting the feeling he doesn't know anything more than we do - he only reads the texts as we read it (well a little earlier than we do since he has to post those extremely mundane and once again, uninspired questions on the readings). Otherwise, he has no idea what he's doing.

How irritating. He probably thinks I'm a slacker because I did well on the midterm but I don't always do the homework.

I'm not a slacker. Your class just sucks.

Hmph.

[edit]

In his defense, I do realize that I'm being really hard on him. It just annoys me because there are so many directions one can take the class, and he just barfs all over any kind of teaching methodology that would engage the students. And I just suck at doing things that are necessary but seem pointless to me.

[edit2] 10.30.2012

So today's class was considerably better. Seems like he knows a little something about Poe. Perhaps he doesn't want to be teaching this class but was forced into it. ^^ Well, things are getting better. I shall try to be less critical.

Glorified Complaining

Really it's just a bunch of excuses. Sit down, shut up and do it, right?

I recently saw a comic and I think it speaks to my inability to be productive.

Why is thinking so counterproductive sometimes?

Bleh. Sleepy.

Art

I used to think I had potential in art. I look back at some of my drawings from when I was 12 and I think to myself, that's not half bad. I look at my art now - anything recent I've done and I cringe.

I've decided that I suck at art. I don't mean it humbly like those people who go "I suck at art" because the tone of the tree bark they painted was slightly off. I mean I suck at art in the fullest and deepest aesthetic sense, where I look at my creations and go, ew. There's no balance, the colors are all off and the technique, well, given my background, is nonexistent.

Eh. In the end though, I think I'll still pursue it - not because I think I'm any good at it. I just like it. I like how it makes me feel when I'm doing it. I find it relaxing. Perhaps if I work at it long enough, it'll amount to something. I kind of secretly hope that, but honestly, I doubt it will.

Music I like

I think the best way to describe it is folksie indie.

I realize I (at least lately) like songs that are clean sounding. The melody, guitar, lyrics, bass, drums are distinguishable. Things like Postal Service and Mumford and Sons. There's this nostalgic melancholy to it that speaks of purer times. It's Romantic (and not in the sense of romantic that people think, but from the Romantic Era, when industrialization started to happen and the poets and writers started to look back to nature and to a time when things were less tainted and more beautiful).

I suppose that arguably things that are "tainted" can be beautiful. I think though, that if things pure and things beautiful are something of the past, we are definitely missing something in the present. And I mean pure and beautiful as separate things. There are things that can be beautiful and unpure, things that are pure and unbeautiful and so forth. I don't know perhaps I'm talking about them together. Lately all my thoughts have been a jumble. I wonder what that means. ADD? Schizophrenia? Insanity? Oh, psychology. Such an interesting study. Perhaps I've just been studying too much. My brain's completely fried.

At any rate, I suppose going back to music and Romanticism, it's true. I like songs that evoke the past. Of feelings, thoughts, experiences that are no longer new. The full enjoyment of life without a worry about the future or the consequences of one's actions.

I just want to be irresponsible again. It's a terrible thing, really.

That's what the music I listen to reminds me of, I think. It helps me think too but I think I'm going crazy. Though, in thinking so, I'm relieved at the proof that I'm not crazy.

아휴~~ 모르겠다. It's such a steep slope to get to where I want to be.

Art supplies

Y'know what I like about art supplies?

Art supplies, with its many colors and blank sheets of white or whatever other color, are pregnant with possibility. I suppose it's somewhat cliche, but cliche for a reason. Perhaps we subscribe to cliches because they define life in a way that resonates with all of us. Though with overuse it becomes hackneyed. Quite unfortunately so. I've been re-experiencing some of the simpler joys in life. Something I keep getting the feeling my generation has forgotten to do. It's weird.

At any rate, back to art supplies. I specifically mean implements used for drawing, coloring or painting, such as paints, pens, permanent markers, etc. Things that speak color. Or in my case, a bag full of those scissors that cut in different shapes. I suppose I can't call myself an artist though I like to think I am.

I like crafts. Perhaps I'm a craftsman?

Anyway, possibilities. It's a beautiful thing, though like writing can be intimidating by the sheer openness of it. I like that though.

In the mood

I have the be "in the mood" to do anything.

I have such difficulty understanding people how have the motivation to do the undesirable. It takes so much for me to get motivated to do something I don't want to do. And even then, sustained activity is rarely achieved.

Every time I'm analyzing or reading into something, I enjoy it. Yet, it takes so much for me to get to that point. It's like running almost. It seems like a chore when I think about it, but when I'm doing it, I usually enjoy it. It's always the getting there that's so difficult. I don't understand why that is.

I feel like I'm being so childish in thinking that way, but at this age, it makes me wonder if I really can change. Am I just giving up because age dictates that I can't change as easily?

I irritate myself at times.

Oh well, today's been a more productive day than most. I must try to sustain such productivity!

Ennui

Everyone is busy.

I should feel busy.

I keep busy but I don't feel busy nor do I feel my time to be filled up. It's an odd dichotomy because I feel like the days go by so quickly without me realizing the time. Yet when I think of the actual hours that I've filled doing who-knows-what, I realize how bored I am.

I suppose this is what being unproductive feels like but this stagnation feels like it isn't my own.

Again, there's that feeling of detachment that I feel is so prevalent in this generation. It isn't my stagnation but stopping from society. Everyone is moving but they aren't going anywhere. Is it the culture?

I need to stop being so influenced by my surroundings.