Reminder #14

Don't use the following words and phrases in church: "hermenuetic principal," "Christ myth," and "theology."

I found out this weekend that these words obviously sound funny to church people's ears and may even be painful. I don't even think profanity would have been more shocking.

Thanks Again Bruderhof

Nothing is more dangerous to the advancement of God's kingdom than religion. But this is what Christianity has become. Do you not know that it is possible to kill Christ with such Christianity? After all, what is more important - Christianity or Christ? And I'll say even more: we can kill Christ with the Bible! Which is greater: the Bible or Christ? Yes, we can even kill Christ with our prayers. When we approach God with our prayers full of self-love and self-satisfaction, when the aim of our prayers is to make our world great, our prayers are in vain.

-C.F. Blumhart in "Action in Waiting"

Watch it now.

The other day, I was saying something stupid, like usual, to my roommate (probably something about my frustration with my admins), and he said, "Are you going crazy again?" And I said, "No, I'm not going crazy again. In order for me 'to go crazy again,' I would have had to have become uncrazy so that I could now be going crazy again, and I haven't done that recently." At least I'm logical when I'm not totally with it (or so I think).

Anyway, that's how it's been lately. And today, after I finished a pointless meeting with its bad pizza (have you ever seen pizza where all of the cheese had evaporated off of it?) and finished up my office hours, I needed to do something non-school. I had no time to do something like this, but I wasn't going to make it otherwise.

So, I went to Corpse Bride. And it was awesome. Burton created a world that's quite a bit like mine here in the desert (though mine doesn't have all that romance--just all the dead and nutty stuff) and it had a good ending. It made me feel good and much more sane. Go watch it.

Class went well today. I did what I do best--I complained. I complained to my students about how language teaching is supposed to offer them some sort of freedom, but in this system, we don't do that. Language learning should give them the skills and the power to break out of the absurd and cruel existences being offered them by this culture. They should be able to discern the absurdities in their culture and imagine a way out for themselves, and I should be giving them the ability to obtain that sort of freedom. And I complained about how our comp system does just the opposite. We give them absurd, contradictory criteria and tell them to fit their writing to it in order for them to get a good grade. In other words, instead of offering the students freedom, we're teaching them how to conform to the corrupt and ridiculous life being pushed at them by our American capitalist culture. I'm teaching them how to put themselves in bondage.

I warned my students of these things. I hope they understood. I warned them, and I told them to survive but to not buy into the system. I told them stories about the horrible life the ICON system would lead them toward, and I told them to survive now but not to adopt it into their lives. And I read them poetry. I read from Wendell Berry and told them to do plenty of things in their life that won't compute. I told them to be not conformed to the world. I hope it worked. I think it did, at least in part and for today. I hope they remember it.

Reminder #13

I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate. I will not kill my roommate....

I Don't Know...

I don't know if I can take it anymore. I'm getting close to my limit.

Of course, what I'm talking about is my job. I actually like the teaching part of it; the kids are great. The problem is my administration. You see, we teachers in the comp program here don't actually get to create our own assignments. We've got this large, ridiculous program where we teach these pre-written assignments and then other people grade them anonymously (I am also one of those anonymous graders myself). Anyway, the big problem comes when the assignments are badly written and the classroom instructors and the document instructors. There's also the little problem that I will teach an assignment only to find that my administrators have decided to change it.

So, this week, I have to try to teach my students to write an exploratory essay that is also "not an essay," according to my bosses. And in this exploratory essay, the student must not make an argument, but they are required to include a thesis statement. Of course, a thesis statement is inherently argumentative. Thus, I have to teach them to write a thesis statement that is somehow argumentative. It can't be done, but that doesn't matter; it's in the criteria. According to my boss, this thesis should also "not be supported." Of course, the criteria by which the students will be graded (written, of course, by these same people), however, says that the draft must "include a thesis statement that is supported." The draft is also supposed to be very formal, at according to the criteria I've been given. Of course, there are also two sections called for in the draft that are personal narratives, and these cannot, in fact, be formal. Furthermore, the assignment calls for the students to write several absolutely disparate elements that don't fit within the same essay at all.

It's all totally absurd, and I absolutely feel like I'm living in Catch-22.

From Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias….
Listen to carrion—put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts….
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is highest in your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

More Apologies

I owe apologies to Brett Favre, Jamal Lewis, Matt Stover, Torry Holt, Clinton Portis, Brandon Stokley, Jason Witten, and Michael Vick. If any of you guys are reading, I am so sorry. I cannot adequately express the infinite sorrow and guilt I feel because of the horrible thing I did to all of you.

You see, I chose each of you to be on my fantasy football team. I know, I know. That was extraordinarily selfish of me. I knew what was going to happen. I knew that as soon as you were on my fantasy football team, you were going to suck. I knew that the career of anybody who ended up on my team would be, for all practical purposes, over. I knew that, and yet, I drafted you all anyway. I knew that I was including you in the Pierce curse. I knew that as soon as your stats mattered in my life, the curse that I live under with would somehow affect you and overwhelm you and ruin those stats that are your very livelihood. And yet, I blindly, selfishly persuaded myself that this wouldn't happen again. Of course, I was wrong. You all sucked in your football games this weekend, and it was my fault. You all sucked because I suck and because I, in all my suckiness, chose to connect your lives to mine, knowing that doing so would destroy you.

I'm sorry. That's all I can do, just say I'm sorry. I can't get rid of you. It's too late. We're stuck in this together. But at least you can take some solace in the fact that your pathetic play, of course caused by me, will sink my whole fantasy football season. At least know that. You are getting your revenge.

Sharing the Boredom for 100 Posts!!!!!!

This is my hundredth post on this blog. I can't say that I've accomplished a whole lot here. Heck, I haven't even given my blog a title yet (any ideas by the way?). I never did intend for the title "I'll Come Up With a Title Later" to become permanent. I meant it when I wrote it. I wrote that as a reminder for me to think up a title later. And by "later" I meant, "later today on January the whatevereth" when I started this thing. I hate that title. I've written a lot of stupid things on this blog, but that stupid title is too stupid for even me. Of course, the worse thing is that I actually have forgotten to come up with a title (quite like me, I'm afraid). I've been so lazy and uncreative and forgetful for the last eight or nine months that I've never even tried to come up with anything to replace it. So it goes.

But anyway, much in the tradition of my boring blog, I have nothing else to say, but I'm, of course, not going to let that stop me. I'm here to share the boredom inherent in the life of a grad student, and that's what I'm going to keep doing.

Repentance

I went this morning to visit my cousin out in prison. One of the perks of getting a visitor in prison here in Lubbock is that you are allowed to have a soft drink if the visitor buys it. My cousin isn't allowed to have a coke otherwise. So, of course, as soon as my cousin came out, I went to buy him one of his beloved Dr. Peppers. I put in the sixty-five cents and pushed the button. Then, I put in another sixty-five cents for myself a drink. Then, I reached for the drinks, and there were three. This machine had given me two Dr. Peppers for the price of one.

And that's when I repented. To all you coke machines out there, I apologize for all those terrible things I wrote yesterday. I now know that you're not all bad. Your just like me. You have your flaws that you wish you could fix. I'm sure that every time you take my money without giving me a drink, you don't mean to. And if I would just listen to you, if I just had the patience and the ears to understand your humming, I would know that you didn't mean to take my money. It was just a little glitch that happened, like what happens with all of us. You didn't mean to do it, and you would give me back the money if you could. Coke machines, I'm sorry. And thank you.

Ah Life

Movie theaters aren't the only things that have a problem with me. Coke machines hate me too.

I remember once, during the most depressed period of my life, I was out walking and being pathetic, feeling sorry for myself, when I happened upon a dollar laying by the sidewalk. I was quite thirsty when I found this dollar bill and hadn't had any money to buy me a drink, and so, in that moment when I found the dollar, the heavens seemed to finally be opened up. It seemed that I could see the end of this dark period of my life. I thought, "Yes, this dollar bill is the sign that there is a God after all, and He's going get me through this." I rejoiced, picked up the dollar, and skipped merrily to the coke machine. That's when, of course, the coke machine stole that dollar and didn't give me the Dr. Pepper that I thought was going to heal all my woes. I think it's safe to say that that was the worst moment of my life.

Well, I ultimately survived that little battle with the coke machine and looking back, it strikes me as a pretty decent parable, though I don't think I'll discuss that significance here. It turns out, though, that the dollar bill was right and the coke machine was wrong after all. Anyway, though, what got me to thinking on that little coke machine episode was another little coke machine episode that just happened.

I was going to get me a drink. I put in my money and pushed the button and heard something fall, but before I grabbed the drink, I looked down at the ground and saw one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. If you've ever been around me much, you know that I rejoice when I see a penny on the ground and alway pick it up and always save it. The Pierce superstitious streak in me just tells me that the penny is a sign of good luck. Well, when I looked down at the ground beside the coke machine, Lo and Behold, there were THIRTY PENNIES!!!!!! I was happy. And before I grabbed my drink, I threw myself into that small space between the coke machine and the wall, and I started picking up all those pennies before anyone else could come by and get them (or might see doing that). So I picked up my thirty pennies, went to grab my Coke, and there wasn't one there. I'd gained thirty pennies but lost my dollar.

I didn't despair this time though. I laughed. The coke machine got me again. Ah coke machines, you're winning the battle now. You steal my money, and when you don't do that, you're trying to make me fat. But I'll survive in the end....

Reminder #12

"Well, God give them wisdom that have it, and those that are fools, let them use their talents."

--Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

So, the other night, I'm coming home from working up at the school, and I decide that since I have nothing to drink in the house, I'll stop by United.

I do. And I pick up three things to drink: a twelve-pack of coke, a gallon of milk, and a twenty-ounce orange drink to have right away. I check out, and as I'm checking out, the cashier asks if I want to donate something to the Katrina reliefe efforts. That gets me to thinking, because I had been planning to donate something, though I hadn't decided where yet. Anyway, I was distracted, thinking, and I walk out of the store.

The thing is, something was wrong the whole walk out to my car. Something just felt funny. But right before I realized what it was, I saw a nail. It was on the sidewalk, and I walked right past it. Then, I was distracted from my already distracted thoughts, and the rest of the walk to the car, I thought of that nail sitting on the sidewalk. I kept thinking that if I didn't pick it up, it would end up in the parking lot and in somebody's tire. So, I walked back across the parking lot, and searched around in the dark and finally found it, and I went home.

When I got home, I talked to my roommate for a bit. Then, I went to put my groceries up in the fridge. And that's when it hit me. Of course, this was yet another instance in which the Pierce curse had struck. That's what I had been distracted from--I had forgotten my groceries at the store.

So, I find the receipt. I tell my roommate where I'm headed (he who laughs mercilessly shall receive no mercy), and I go back to the store. But first, I make one look around the house to make sure I hadn't just left them laying somewhere random (believe me, such happens frequently). I hadn't. So, I left.

And I walk back into the store, and I start to dig in my pocket to pull out the receipt, and of course, it's not there now. I go and search in my car and find about fifteen receipts, but none of them is this particular one from United. When I did that last little look around the house, I had evidently set it down. I drove back home (about seven blocks), and searched all over the house. I found it. And my roommate laughed at me again.

And then I went back to the store. The cashier laughed at me too. She especially thought it was funny that I had left such large items. I didn't tell her about the receipt stuff.

And then I went home, and drank my lukewarm orange drink. It tasted good.

Katrina

Go read Larry James's Blog. And read Emily's, too.

End of Week Report

Well, I guess I've survived my first week back at grad school. All in all, it's not been a bad week.

I like the classes I'm teaching. I didn't sleep at all Monday night because I was so nervous. When I woke up, I even noticed that my arm was shaking from nerves. After about forty minutes of prayer and listening to a couple of Jennifer Knapp songs (a form of prayer in itself), I lost all of that tension, and the fears that were overwhelming me at the moment totally subsided. I got up, dressed, went to school, and taught, and it was all just fine.

I did have a few small problems. One of my classes wouldn't believe that I was really their professor. What happened was that when I showed up to the room, the door was shut, and I assumed that the previous class was still in there. I waited in the hall with my students a few moments before finally unlocking the door. When I did that, they were shocked that one of the guys that looked just like them and that had been standing around with them in the hall had the keys. When we got in the room, I started writing on the board, and they all sat down. But when I began to talk, one of the guys in the back raised his hand and asked, incredulously, if I were really their professor. I think they had seen that trick done in the movies. I explained to them that, yes, I was their professor, even if I was an idiot. And I told them that being quite out of touch with the world around them was a prerequisite for teaching any college class. And told told that student who asked that question that he was going to fail.

After that, I was pretty harsh on the class, I guess to maintain my authority position that had nearly been lost. I scared them pretty well, but I think that'll help them. It was surprisingly fun, too.

The classes I'm taking also seem fine, though I don't feel much compulsion to write about them.

This is going to be an amazingly busy semester. I haven't had a free moment. It's either going to class, or doing homework, or talking to students in office hours, or answering emails, or writing lesson plans, or grading, or teaching at every moment. I'm going to be back on my 80-90 hour work-week schedule pretty soon. That sort of schedule scared me a lot last year when I saw it coming at the end of the semester. Now, it starts at the beginning of the semester, but I feel used to it. It'll all be fine.

It is precisely when every earthly hope has been explored and found wanting, when every possibility of help from earthly sources has been sought and is not forthcoming, when every recourse this world offers, moral as well as material, has been drawn on and expended with no effect, when in the shivering cold every stick of wood has been thrown on the fire, and in the gathering darkness every glimmer of light has finally flickered out—it is then that Christ’s hand reaches out, sure and firm, that Christ’s words bring their inexpressible comfort, that his light shines brightest, abolishing the darkness for ever.

Malcolm Muggeridge

"Only when we take human existence upon ourselves in its starkest and most humiliating misery—a misery in which nothing has meaning—can we win through to the only possible way to live. Only when we taste the lot of all, when we become involved deeply in world suffering, one in heart with the need of humanity, can we win through to our true vocation. Only when the conscience becomes active, only when love is born out of suffering, only when hardship leads to liberating action, is victory near."

Eberhard Arnold, April 1919