Teachers, Growls, and Toads

It is one of those days. One of those days. Everything is irksome. Anyone who crosses my path is bound to stir me into an argument or make me grind my teeth with frustration.*Grrrrowl*

I had an English teacher  in High School who would actually say “Growl” when she was upset. Forgot to do your homework? Growl. Misplaced a comma? Growl. Need to use the restroom again? Growl. It was quite comical to hear. She was so small and kind-faced that new students never expected her to get angry, yet alone growl. She also liked to call people toads. Don’t ask me why.

Despite her quirky sayings, she was one of my favorite teachers. Since then, I have only run across a few other teachers that I liked as much. College presented a wider pool of educators, but some were certainly less amiable than others. I had my share of Professors who were so driven to conduct research that they only put up with classes/students because they had to; some of them were not meant to teach. In one lower-division class I learned more from my T.A. than from the Professor. No joke… the dude without the Ph. D. taught me more.

I do not want to put the system to shame, though. I also had plenty of great Professors who were dedicated to the subject area and imparted knowledge with ease.

Yes, this post is heading somewhere. *Growl* Psha…. Toad.

I just finished grad school applications. For the packet of application info, I needed to include references from teachers. One Professor, who agreed to submit a letter on by behalf, turned out to be a huuuuge let down. Lucky for me, I knew she might be a disappointment so I was able to get an additional recommendation from another source.

The let down Professor agreed to write a letter, but she had all these stipulations. I meet her requests with alacrity. I emailed to keep in touch. She replied with a blanket “students requesting letters” email… failing to address my situation specific questions. Awesome. The blanket email says everything is done. Yet, the letter has only just reached the letter service which I am to have the letter sent to separate institutions from. Thanks. The letter needs to reach the final destination is two days. Cheers. Is she at all aware of the cost for me to send this materials at the last minute?

*Growl. Growl. Growl.* What a toad.

Threads of Opinion

When I stop to think about the threads that make up an opinion, I wonder how much of said opinion is based on generalizations. Public opinion is a generalization—thoughts on a topic boiled down and labeled as “generally accepted”.

There is such a large variety of thoughts possible. How is it possible to take apart a woven blanket of ideas on a subject and declare that one thread type is more significant than all the other threads just because it is used more often? The blanket would not be complete without the other thread types.

Sure, there are times when generalizations need to be made for the sake of simplicity. Yet I find that I like to try to look beyond the generalization; to try to uncover what other ideas are floating around. Just because a larger number of individuals have a certain opinion does not mean that differing opinions are less significant. Quantity does not inherently imply quality.

This is a crunchy topic, so chew carefully. =D While you digest my little corner of thought, here are some quotes from people with other opinions on opinions.

“People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Knowledge is knowing that we cannot know.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Opinion has caused more trouble on this little earth than plagues or earthquakes.”
-Voltaire

“Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric.”
- Bertrand Russell

“Every man is a fool in some man’s opinion.”
-Spanish Proverb

“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd.”
-Bertrand Russell

Death of a Mass Market Novel

I leave the distribution center, boxed up with fellow novels. In the back of a truck-trailer, we make our way along the highways. For days, we wait in anticipation. Some of us are hardcover. Some of us are softcover. No matter what the thickness, each of us is eager to be opened.

Finally, we reach the store. The back of the truck-trailer eases open. I can feel the warmth of the sun seeping in through the cardboard box. A noisy machine eases the box out of the truck. With a thud, the box is placed on cold concrete.

There is chattering. Voices. My pages shiver at the sound of metal slicing across the top of the box. *Please don’t tear me.*  With a snap, the top flaps of the box are pulled back. Warm, fresh air rushes in around my pages. I shudder with excitement.

It is time. A pair of hands reaches in the box and abruptly pulls me and some companions into the open air. It is a warehouse. There are tables, carts, and books everywhere. *Thwap*. The hands slam me onto a table.

Another pair of hands starts to sort us into piles. Some of us are pasted with icons: 20% off, Buy 2 Get 1, etc. I am not labeled, just stacked onto another book. The hands press into my cover and grab me and the books below me. Across the floor we go.

Now I am on a cart. I am being rolled out into a brightly lit room. The room is large! There is music! It smells like cookies!

*Squeak, squeak, squeak.* The cart rolls to a stop in front of a tall structure with shelves. I shift on the cart as books around me are picked up by yet another set of hands and placed onto a shelf. It is my turn. *Clunk.* The metal beneath me is cold. My cover is facing outward, I can not see anything behind be or next to me. In front of me, there is another structure with shelves. Books line those shelves too.

For weeks, I sit on the shelf. Every now and then, someone picks me up… only to set me down again. The Books around me are picked up too but they are then carried away. Where are they going? Then, I am picked up again. Only this time, I leave the shelf. *Clunk.* I am placed onto what looks like a cart.

*Squeak, squeak, squeak.* Again, the cart rolls away from the shelves and back into the warehouse.

I feel cold. Something in the room makes me uncomfortable. There are less books with me this time. *Tear.* Oh my gosh! What is that sound? *Rip.* What is going on? Is everyone ok? *Tear.* I am scared.

A pair of hands picks me up. What is going on? Why is my cover being held so closely to the spine? I feel woozy. *Tear.* Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Where is my cover? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? HELP! HELP! SOMEONE IS DENUDING THE BOOKS!

*Thwap.* Naked and cold, I am thrown into a box under a table. Where are they taking me next? Where ever it is, I do not think it is good because it is a place where I no longer need a cover to identify myself from the other novels.

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Day one of my employment at a major bookstore and I am tearing covers off of unwanted books that are bound for a recycling plant. It is sad, really. As much as I love books, it is heartbreaking to have to send a box of coverless books to their doom.

Super Mario Fun

When Super Nintendo was new and all the rage, I was a young’n. My parents did not allow video game systems in the house. Nope. Sure, there were some acceptions to those rules. I think my oldest brother owned an Ataris console. Then later, my other brother had a game gear. The funny thing is, that those two game systems were the only ones allowed.

Anywho, there was no Super Nintendo to be had. So now that I am older, I lack that ever-present social skill… the video game talent that can only be acquired during childhood. While my friends—male and female alike—are versed in hand-eye coordination and secret passageway know how, I am the novice gamer that takes days to beat level one.

I can’t say that I would trade the other childhood experiences I had for a youth complete with gamming, but it certainly would make me more in-tune with the phenomena of video games. Although, I am definetely proud to admit that I did not and still do not waste hours with a controller in my hand.

Today, I was playing a bit of Super Mario World with my boyfriend—mind you I only play about two games before I get bored. Well, while playing I was reminded of a live re-enactment of a Mario level. Check this out: Mario Live. It is pretty entertaining.