Multiple Thoughts...

1) General Education Classes are Stupid. Why do I have to take so many Gen-Ed classes at the university in order to get my degree? If I am smart enough to gain admission to the university in the first place, then shouldn't they assume that I already have a decent, well-rounded education in areas other than my major? There was a math and science section on the SATs and ACTs, you know. They did teach us this stuff in highschool, and they did a better job than you guys. I already know how to do all the math and science that I'll ever care to do, and some of the classes they offer to fill these Gen-Ed requirements are so stupid that I think they are actually taking away from my intelligence. For example, Man's Food, the course I am currently enrolled in, has taught me only that Dr. Marshall's frequent karaoke debacles are offensive to my ears. The other things, like the fact that spinach contains oxalic acid which prevents the absorption of calcium, will soon be forgotten after the test on Friday. What really bothers me is that I could have taken about six or seven more English classes if I wasn't required to take these useless physics and biology requirements.

2) Grammar Mistakes in the aformentioned class are killing me! If I take anything of value with me from this tedious class it will be the realization that there is a need for English majors because some people really have no clue what they're doing. For example, the lecture notes read "Too types of diseases," and "A List of Parasite's." Disgusting.

3) Funny English Snobbery. I found this tirade on my daily definition email from dictionary.com. The following is H. L. Mencken's description of President Harding's tiresome and banal use of language-- reminding us that not only grammar, but style, can also be atrocious.

"He writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash."

The string of wet sponges is my favorite part.

4) Successful, Fun Field-Trip. I'm proud to report that the field-trip was a smashing success. The morning started out a little doubtful, as we had a mild fight between emerging friends and some early attitude outbreaks. On the way to the park, this weird woman rolled down her window and started talking to us. She said "Well, you wanna hear some music or what?" and we were all stumped trying to figure out what she was talking about, half-afraid that she was going to start pumping up her bass and blasting us with some crazy old-lady music. It didn't help that there was a big truck to our other side, so we could barely hear her. We looked confused, I'm sure, so she said it again a few times and then gestured to the mini-van in front of her, which had about eight giant antennae all over the roof, including one that was square-shaped. Normally, we would not have thought that this was too unusual or even that funny, but the fact that this woman went entirely out of her way to point this out, confusing us in the process, was especially hysterical. We laughed about it for a couple miles, and W---'s imitation of the looks on our faces was great. M---- even laughed, and he was trying to pretend being mad at me, so that was good.

Once we got to the park, it was so humid that none of us felt like moving. The kids were supposed to play for a few hours before the pool opened, but it was too hot so they sat around and complained about how hungry they were. Then they discovered the merry-go-round thing and forgot all about the heat as they tried to spin it so fast that they made everyone sick, which they achieved. So then the kids all sat around feeling like they were going to puke, and weren't even that hungry when the pizza arrived. I forgot to bring plates, so we ate it off of the tops of the boxes.

Once we got to the pool, it took everything I had to keep the kids in line and keep them from rushing the door like a group of wild animals. After convincing them that we really would get inside faster if they lined up, and that the rest of the public would stop butting them once they formed an intelligible line, I payed and we were in. I taught two teenage kids how to swim (they did great) and we all had a blast in the pool. It was the most smiles I've seen all summer. No one wanted to leave. They were sharing the goggles, they were laughing with each other. It was great. Kid checks every fifteen minutes, no lost kids, no fights. A success.

5) Archer Baptist Church. Because the kids have been heckling me to come with them to their church, and because they were having a free chicken dinner, and because it's the church that most of my distant southern relatives attend, and because it's less than five minutes from my house, and because I was curious, I went to the Archer Baptist Church last night, ate dinner, and attended prayer meeting and Bible study. I could write for an entire hour on the experience, but I will condense it. I have to admit, I thought it was funny that one of the concerns on the prayer list was to keep the Bush administration in the White House. Not because it's funny that a conservative church would pray for an administration that is pro-life (that's to be expected), but for the fact that that's not what the prayer was for. The prayer was specifically for Bush. It struck me as odd, as though it precluded the conception that another pro-lifer could be a better candidate than Bush. I didn't realize churches prayed over such things. My prayers are generally more broad in scope, and less specific. Also the fact that I am NOT voting for Bush, and that there are probably equal numbers of churches praying for some other providential presidential candidate, was kind of ironic, and I had to supress giggles. I think the air coming out of my nose was enough to give myself away.

The second weird thing that happened is this very well-dressed, shiny-shoed, clean-cut guy with OZZY tatooed across his knuckles was hitting on me throughout dinner and the bible study. I don't like to prematurely judge people, but there is a gut-feeling that this guy is not someone I want to get to know as more than an aquaintance. Apparently, he didn't have the same gut-feeling as I did. To his credit, he did share his favorite bible verses with me, which was a nice gesture. But still. Why can't some people read other people's cues? I was giving him all the signs that I was listening only because I wanted to be polite, but I wasn't really that interested in what he was saying. He followed me around the whole night. I was somewhat greatful for his company, because he was really nice, but there is always a discomfort when you know that someone is seeing you in a way that you don't want to be seen. I still haven't discovered a graceful way out of such situations, short of saying "look! the building's on fire!" and running away, or some other lame excuse. I suppose I would like to hear more about his religious story, since I love to hear people's stories. Really, the main aversion I have to him is that he obviously really likes me and this makes me uncomfortable since the feeling is not returned. Sometimes it is hard to be a nice person, because things like this happen to you. One day he will ask me for my phone number and I will have to say, "Oh, hold on, I forgot my purse inside," and then run away. It makes me feel so dishonest, but what else are you going to do? Say, "look, it's obvious that you are very interested in me, but it's not really returned in the same way. So I think it's best that we don't exchange phone numbers, and just see each other as friends around the church." Or say, "Ummmm. No." I don't know. I'm afraid of what is going to pop out of my mouth.

6) Shut-In. I went to visit my great-grandmother before our field-trip. She keeps the little cartons of milk that they send her from her meals-on-wheels deal in her freezer for me and Issac, and we were out of milk at home, so I went to grab a few before we left. It was still early in the morning, and she was asleep on her bed in the livingroom. The lights were off, but there was enough morning light to see. I watched her sleeping peacefully for a few moments. She is so beatiful at 95 years. I love going to my great-grandmama's house. When you open the heavy screen breezeway door, you instantly smell plants and the fresh smell of soil and water in tin cans in her greenhouse and the smell of newspapers that she never throws away, the smell of her laundry and her polyester pants and houndstooth jackets hanging on the inside line. That house is so old, and hasn't changed a lick since 1930 except for the kitchen appliances which were redone in the sixties. The knob on the door to the house is the old kind, real heavy metal that rotates loose in its carriage, soft and smooth and polished with touch. It is never locked.

I decided not to wake her up, even though she gets mad when I don't. As I left the house, with my hand on that doorknob, pulling the door shut behind me, I noticed grandaddy's white cowboy hat was still on its peg, as though he had taken it off the night before upon entering the house.

That morning, I didn't realize that later in the same evening I would meet the pastor who presided over grandaddy's funeral last year, and that I would see grandmama's name on the prayer list under "shut-ins."