I immediately recognized the name Peter Elbow and David Bartholomae from my Composing Theory class last semester. Opposing viewpoints that are all looking for what I equate with the search for the fountain of youth: It's a worthwhile purpose but is nonexistent.
Bartholomae is promoting the critical writing method while Elbow leans more towards the creative method. That is a very extreme generalization of this conversation and doesn't cover most of the aspects of their disagreement. Suffice it to say that although both have the same leanings, that is a longing to produce properly educated individuals, Elbow feels more inclined to be an advocate for the 'writer' in himself than for the 'academic'. He feels they are at odds with one another although he wants harmony. Both are addressing the problem that is postmodernism. It has been inculcated into educational systems and is now posing problems for the staff as it relates to an appropriate approach to pedagogy.
If postmodernism is 'all that', why then is it collapsing upon itself for the philosophy it is espousing? Was it really worth exploring? Was it worthwhile? Did it help humankind in any shape or form other than to show a failed method of thought?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Inspiration or aggravation?
With this semesters' Scissortail festival over and done with and myself not attending any presentations, I am presented with the prospect of 'feeding the muse' as Dr. Benton has put it. What do I find inspirational? Inspiration springs forth from me as a result of a heartfelt desire. That may include accomplishing a task such as writing, relishing in the day that is provided for me, or from a reading that was moving. These are only examples and are not conclusive.
Unfortunately, in my opinion, some of my recent inspiration has come from the abhorrent ideologies or philosophies presented in instructions, readings, and attitudes exhibited upon the ECU campus, especially pertaining to the English Dept. Indeed, they are prevalent elsewhere in every facet of society. The very idea that such discourse presented is overwhelmingly and potentially dangerous to students demands that I speak up.
In my eyes, much of the faculty and subsequent required readings of various authors, are postmodern/poststructural in their content. This is contrary to my entire belief system and I find it detrimental to producing valued members of society.
That being said, I should really save the rest of this diatribe for the papers that are due at the end of this semester. If anyone is really that interested in further conversations concerning this, please comment and we can explore these concepts in depth.
Unfortunately, in my opinion, some of my recent inspiration has come from the abhorrent ideologies or philosophies presented in instructions, readings, and attitudes exhibited upon the ECU campus, especially pertaining to the English Dept. Indeed, they are prevalent elsewhere in every facet of society. The very idea that such discourse presented is overwhelmingly and potentially dangerous to students demands that I speak up.
In my eyes, much of the faculty and subsequent required readings of various authors, are postmodern/poststructural in their content. This is contrary to my entire belief system and I find it detrimental to producing valued members of society.
That being said, I should really save the rest of this diatribe for the papers that are due at the end of this semester. If anyone is really that interested in further conversations concerning this, please comment and we can explore these concepts in depth.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Back-paddling towards your goal
In Robert Schole's book Textual Power, he asserts that a fate should be avoided. "Since the nineteen-sixties we have been losing our congregations, and we are scared to death that our temples will be converted into movie theaters or video parlors and we will end our days doing intellectual janitorial or custodial work." In this statement, he is talking about losing students, and professors in some cases, since the inception (roughly the 1960's) of what is now called 'literary theory'. He goes on to state, “What went wrong with the idea of literature as secular scripture can be described simply as the loss of faith in the universality of human nature and a corresponding loss of faith in the universal wisdom of the authors of literary texts." Isn't this what literary theory espouses? That the author doesn't know what he or she is writing and the meaning can be ambiguous?
To me, he is saying that we want literary theory to continue, albeit revised, but since we have been teaching it, it is pushing away students. He then goes on to show that a 'universal wisdom of the authors' is in declining faith among students. Yet, the non-wisdom of authors is exactly what is promulgated by the very teachers that want to increase their attendances. This is extremely evident in the classes that we are taking here at ECU. Even Professor Grasso made the statement relating to 'nonauthorial ownership'. I further believe that the deconstructionist approach Schole's and many more take, adds to the problem of losing students.
To me, he is saying that we want literary theory to continue, albeit revised, but since we have been teaching it, it is pushing away students. He then goes on to show that a 'universal wisdom of the authors' is in declining faith among students. Yet, the non-wisdom of authors is exactly what is promulgated by the very teachers that want to increase their attendances. This is extremely evident in the classes that we are taking here at ECU. Even Professor Grasso made the statement relating to 'nonauthorial ownership'. I further believe that the deconstructionist approach Schole's and many more take, adds to the problem of losing students.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
On reading Montaigne
My thoughts from the reading of "Of a Monstrous Child":
You can draw a conclusion of Montaigne's belief system from this reading. That would be his belief in a higher power--God, if you like. The references he makes refering to a child that is disfigured in any way is not seen in the same light when viewed by this entity; it is perfect, it is complete. Mankinds fascination with a perfect physique has skewed our perception of what the Creator has accomplished.
My thoughts from the reading of "Of Books":
There were several passages that I felt were thought-provoking. Some I will discuss in small measure and some I will not either due to the brevity I wish to accomplish or due to the fact that I found the passage simply had an aesthetic value.
You can draw a conclusion of Montaigne's belief system from this reading. That would be his belief in a higher power--God, if you like. The references he makes refering to a child that is disfigured in any way is not seen in the same light when viewed by this entity; it is perfect, it is complete. Mankinds fascination with a perfect physique has skewed our perception of what the Creator has accomplished.
My thoughts from the reading of "Of Books":
There were several passages that I felt were thought-provoking. Some I will discuss in small measure and some I will not either due to the brevity I wish to accomplish or due to the fact that I found the passage simply had an aesthetic value.
- "Whoever is in search of knowledge, let him fish for it where it dwells..."
- I enjoyed his hint to the reader when he mentioned, "Let attention be paid not to the matter, but to the shape I give it." This is a signpost for the reader to notice the slant or the way he presents his material.
- "I should certainly like to have a more perfect knowledge of things, but I do not want to buy it as dear as it costs." I think this would mostly pertain to the time involved spent pursuing such an endeavour. In today's society, it could also relate to cost. A common statement made by young freshmen is the distaste of having to learn about many different subjects not necessarily pertaining to their major. Even some seasoned students may not relish the fact of the 'waterboarding' affect of being mandated to pursue a particular discourse they find distasteful or irrelevant.
- "O foolish and dull-witted age!"--Catullus (After 500 yrs of Montaigne adding this in his essay, it still is applicable.)
- When criticizing other writers he make this analogy, "They mount on horseback because they are not strong enough on their legs." I think the meaning is self-evident.
- I liked his comparison to two particular writers; Plutarch and Cicero. Of Plutarch, he stated, "Plutarch...contents you more and pays you better. He guides us..." Of Cicero he mentioned, "..what life and marrow there is , is smothered by his long-winded preparations. I find nothing but wind." This too is self-evident. I liked his word usage when describing these two contemporaries.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Brotherly love
With my hands tied behind my back, blood streaming from my chin, and a knife lying close by, I saw my mother walk into the room. Through the tears then and the years now, I can still see her expression of disbelief at the scene. The questions flew. Everyone was moving. Action was taken. I could now feel my hands being untied and the blood rushing into them. Mother came over with a towel to stop the flow of blood issuing onto the hardwood floor. There was already a pool of the red liquid hardening there. As she was spouting off commands to Paul, my brother, she went outside and started the car. I remember the feeling of being lifted into his arms and carried off to the backseat of our '74 Buick. I can still see the remorse in his eyes and the contempt too. "It's all my fault Momma," is what I still hear after all these years.
My earliest memory of Paul and I was on the front lawn of 6507 Premier Dr. in Nashville, TN. That was my first home. It was a warm sunny day and we were enjoying being outside. We were both sitting in an old green and white chaise lounge chair; the kind that was prevalent in the 70's with fibered polyester strands wound together into a suitable resemblance of luxury for the great outdoors. He was reading to me at the ripe age of 5. I don't recall the title but I remember listening attentively. I knew I had to be 5 because we moved across town the following year where I was to start attending 1st grade. That is a fond memory when I looked up to my big brother.
Paul was also sadistic at times. I think most older brothers are. He did things purely out of spite. I know he did! As a pastor now, he regrets the grievances he bestowed upon me but always recalls them with a chuckle. There were times when he would hold me down on the floor with my hands under his knees. Then he would make me smell the reek that emanated from his recently removed shoe. As I held my breath, knowing what was to come, he would simply smile in anticipation of my 1st inhale of that odoriferous poison that would choke me to tears. After some time had passed; my temper abated; his goal accomplished; we would play a game or watch TV as if nothing had ever happened.
That is not to say that I didn't have my revenge. After one such occasion of my nasal passages being assaulted, this time not just with shoes but stinky, smelly socks as well, I retrieved the longest and sharpest pieces of cutlery I could find. I cornered Paul in the kitchen. I recall the look in his eyes as I slowly moved the blade closer and closer to his stomach. Had he pushed me too far? He began to suck in his gut. I edged the knife a little further. He withdrew his stomach as far as he could. When he could go no further I said, "Don't ever do that to me again!" I hoped I had made my point clear. I put the knife away and that, as they say, was that. I knew the possible consequences of such an action though and sure enough, before a month had passed, I was held down again for yet another round of torment.
This brings me back to when Paul and I had just finished watching a TV show in the living room espousing the feats of The Great Houdini, the magician of our time. He was world renowned and could accomplish impossible tasks. I was 10 at the time and commented that I could beat such odds as those presented by the master escapist. Paul smiled and said, "Prove it." With a feeling of uncertainty in my gut I replied, "Tie me up."
I'm sorry to interrupt my story just now but I have to let you in on a piece of information that I had learned from my brother David. It's quite relevant. David is a few years older than Paul and had his nose broken once. I remember his retelling of how the doctor had to reset his nose with a pair of pliers while the attending nurse secured his hands on the examination table. It wasn't a pleasant story.
I told Paul,"Bind my ankles together and my wrists behind my back." That was the way Houdini did it. As he scanned the room for a suitable restraint, his eyes rested upon my discarded blue plaid robe from the morning. As I saw him retract the cloth belt from what I normally looked forward to donning everyday, I felt ill. I felt him secure my feet. My hands were brought behind me and tied. After he checked the knots for slippage, I was left to perform my miracle of escape. He crossed the room and sat down on the couch to watch and finish eating a recently sliced tomato. Standing upright in our living room I writhed, squirmed, and wiggled. I knew I could untie those knots or at least loosen them enough to free myself. It was during one of those wiggle fests when I noticed my balance had begun to falter. I tried to stabilize myself but that's rather difficult with your hands and feet tied. I started falling forward seeing the hardwood floors coming up to meet me. I remembered David's broken nose and didn't want to share his experience. All I could think of was 'stick out your chin,' and that's exactly what I did. That's when mom walked in the front door after a hard day's work.
I received 5 stitches in my chin that day. The mark is still there although you can't see it through this manly beard I have now.
I think there is some truth in what my father use to say, “There’s a monkey inside every boy.” Boys do silly things and as far as that goes, men do too. Women shouldn’t feel at a quandary as to why men do what they do. Sometimes, we don’t know either. We just act on compulsion. Something drives us. I just hope it’s not the monkey doing the driving.
My earliest memory of Paul and I was on the front lawn of 6507 Premier Dr. in Nashville, TN. That was my first home. It was a warm sunny day and we were enjoying being outside. We were both sitting in an old green and white chaise lounge chair; the kind that was prevalent in the 70's with fibered polyester strands wound together into a suitable resemblance of luxury for the great outdoors. He was reading to me at the ripe age of 5. I don't recall the title but I remember listening attentively. I knew I had to be 5 because we moved across town the following year where I was to start attending 1st grade. That is a fond memory when I looked up to my big brother.
Paul was also sadistic at times. I think most older brothers are. He did things purely out of spite. I know he did! As a pastor now, he regrets the grievances he bestowed upon me but always recalls them with a chuckle. There were times when he would hold me down on the floor with my hands under his knees. Then he would make me smell the reek that emanated from his recently removed shoe. As I held my breath, knowing what was to come, he would simply smile in anticipation of my 1st inhale of that odoriferous poison that would choke me to tears. After some time had passed; my temper abated; his goal accomplished; we would play a game or watch TV as if nothing had ever happened.
That is not to say that I didn't have my revenge. After one such occasion of my nasal passages being assaulted, this time not just with shoes but stinky, smelly socks as well, I retrieved the longest and sharpest pieces of cutlery I could find. I cornered Paul in the kitchen. I recall the look in his eyes as I slowly moved the blade closer and closer to his stomach. Had he pushed me too far? He began to suck in his gut. I edged the knife a little further. He withdrew his stomach as far as he could. When he could go no further I said, "Don't ever do that to me again!" I hoped I had made my point clear. I put the knife away and that, as they say, was that. I knew the possible consequences of such an action though and sure enough, before a month had passed, I was held down again for yet another round of torment.
This brings me back to when Paul and I had just finished watching a TV show in the living room espousing the feats of The Great Houdini, the magician of our time. He was world renowned and could accomplish impossible tasks. I was 10 at the time and commented that I could beat such odds as those presented by the master escapist. Paul smiled and said, "Prove it." With a feeling of uncertainty in my gut I replied, "Tie me up."
I'm sorry to interrupt my story just now but I have to let you in on a piece of information that I had learned from my brother David. It's quite relevant. David is a few years older than Paul and had his nose broken once. I remember his retelling of how the doctor had to reset his nose with a pair of pliers while the attending nurse secured his hands on the examination table. It wasn't a pleasant story.
I told Paul,"Bind my ankles together and my wrists behind my back." That was the way Houdini did it. As he scanned the room for a suitable restraint, his eyes rested upon my discarded blue plaid robe from the morning. As I saw him retract the cloth belt from what I normally looked forward to donning everyday, I felt ill. I felt him secure my feet. My hands were brought behind me and tied. After he checked the knots for slippage, I was left to perform my miracle of escape. He crossed the room and sat down on the couch to watch and finish eating a recently sliced tomato. Standing upright in our living room I writhed, squirmed, and wiggled. I knew I could untie those knots or at least loosen them enough to free myself. It was during one of those wiggle fests when I noticed my balance had begun to falter. I tried to stabilize myself but that's rather difficult with your hands and feet tied. I started falling forward seeing the hardwood floors coming up to meet me. I remembered David's broken nose and didn't want to share his experience. All I could think of was 'stick out your chin,' and that's exactly what I did. That's when mom walked in the front door after a hard day's work.
I received 5 stitches in my chin that day. The mark is still there although you can't see it through this manly beard I have now.
I think there is some truth in what my father use to say, “There’s a monkey inside every boy.” Boys do silly things and as far as that goes, men do too. Women shouldn’t feel at a quandary as to why men do what they do. Sometimes, we don’t know either. We just act on compulsion. Something drives us. I just hope it’s not the monkey doing the driving.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Five opening paragraphs to possible essays I may write that I believe are fascinating!
#1 Taking a plane ride can be an enjoyable experience unless something unexpected happens along the way. This was the case for my senior trip from Tennessee to California. We had just reached our cruising altitude of 30,000 feet when I was offered a beverage of my choice. I chose a gin & tonic. (Our state at that time had a legal drinking age of 18) I was truly enjoying this 2nd flight of my lifetime taking in all the service that was provided to me by the attractive stewardesses and the feeling of flying in the clouds along with the 'jetset' crowd. After the other passengers were waited upon, I again was approached requesting my choice for the in-flight dinner. I decided upon the chicken entree after I thought I had taken enough time to peruse the two item list from which to choose from. I was now feeling superb! Little did I know the consequences of my choice.
#2 I have to admit that I'm a dog person. Oh, I know that there are those that prefer cats, but not me. Cats are too pretentious, austere, and rarely come when they're called--and only if they want to. Just give me a dog who'll lie down beside me, come when called, and lick at my face in admiration of the attention I bestow upon it. This thought brings me back in time when I was a child with my most favorite pet Frisky. He was a white-haired dog of mixed breed but always seemed to have a smile on his face. My, the times we had together. I recall this strange fascination he used to have with rocks.
#3 When, perchance, there comes a time in your life to bring another life into this world, grab it by both hands. I mean that figuratively as well as literally. There is no greater joy in this world than to experience the rapture--no, the undying elation of that moment. It lasts for years upon years. It is especially true if that precious life that you welcome in is your firstborn.
#4 Sitting across the room from me, Bill Cosby asked if I knew what a cappuccino was. "Of course I do sir," was my reply. "Would you like one?" As I stood there watching him smoke his big, brown cigar he had recently lit and reclining on the couch, a look of unbelievability came across his face. I even think he rolled his eyes as if to say, 'Who is this guy?' I was hoping for one of those 'Bill Cosby' moments where he comically reprimands you. I wasn't disappointed. He responded in just the manner that I expected him to. With sarcasm dripping from his voice he asked," Now why do you think I would ask you if you knew what a cappuccino was if I didn't want one? Yes, I would like a cappaccino! Do you think you can handle that?" He turned and looked at one of his associates and giggled a little after that remark. I tried not to let the smirk come across my face. I was too nervous. I'm sure my cheeks were beet-red. My heart was racing by the fact of actually having a conversation with one of the best known comedians of my time, and it also sank as I considered the possibilities of getting him his request quickly. I decided to call room service.
#5 With my hands tied behind my back, blood streaming from my chin, and a knife lying close by, my mother walked into the room. Through the tears then and the years now, I can still see her expression of disbelief at the scene. The questions flew. Everyone was moving. Action was taken. I could now feel my hands being untied and the blood rushing into them. Mother came over with a towel to stop the flow of blood issuing onto the hardwood floor. There was already a pool of the red liquid hardening there. As she was spouting off commands to Paul, my brother, she went outside and started the car. I remember the feeling of being lifted into his arms and carried off to the backseat of our '74 Buick. I can still see the remorse in his eyes and the contempt too. "It's all my fault Momma," is what I still hear after all these years.
#2 I have to admit that I'm a dog person. Oh, I know that there are those that prefer cats, but not me. Cats are too pretentious, austere, and rarely come when they're called--and only if they want to. Just give me a dog who'll lie down beside me, come when called, and lick at my face in admiration of the attention I bestow upon it. This thought brings me back in time when I was a child with my most favorite pet Frisky. He was a white-haired dog of mixed breed but always seemed to have a smile on his face. My, the times we had together. I recall this strange fascination he used to have with rocks.
#3 When, perchance, there comes a time in your life to bring another life into this world, grab it by both hands. I mean that figuratively as well as literally. There is no greater joy in this world than to experience the rapture--no, the undying elation of that moment. It lasts for years upon years. It is especially true if that precious life that you welcome in is your firstborn.
#4 Sitting across the room from me, Bill Cosby asked if I knew what a cappuccino was. "Of course I do sir," was my reply. "Would you like one?" As I stood there watching him smoke his big, brown cigar he had recently lit and reclining on the couch, a look of unbelievability came across his face. I even think he rolled his eyes as if to say, 'Who is this guy?' I was hoping for one of those 'Bill Cosby' moments where he comically reprimands you. I wasn't disappointed. He responded in just the manner that I expected him to. With sarcasm dripping from his voice he asked," Now why do you think I would ask you if you knew what a cappuccino was if I didn't want one? Yes, I would like a cappaccino! Do you think you can handle that?" He turned and looked at one of his associates and giggled a little after that remark. I tried not to let the smirk come across my face. I was too nervous. I'm sure my cheeks were beet-red. My heart was racing by the fact of actually having a conversation with one of the best known comedians of my time, and it also sank as I considered the possibilities of getting him his request quickly. I decided to call room service.
#5 With my hands tied behind my back, blood streaming from my chin, and a knife lying close by, my mother walked into the room. Through the tears then and the years now, I can still see her expression of disbelief at the scene. The questions flew. Everyone was moving. Action was taken. I could now feel my hands being untied and the blood rushing into them. Mother came over with a towel to stop the flow of blood issuing onto the hardwood floor. There was already a pool of the red liquid hardening there. As she was spouting off commands to Paul, my brother, she went outside and started the car. I remember the feeling of being lifted into his arms and carried off to the backseat of our '74 Buick. I can still see the remorse in his eyes and the contempt too. "It's all my fault Momma," is what I still hear after all these years.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Once upon a time.....
After long and arduous thinking of my past experiences and what others would find intriguing, I came up with five opening lines to essays that I could write about. These were the winners:
1. The view out the window was pleasant and then the door to the plane opened.
2. I don't like to lie.
3. My wife's doctor told her to push but I didn't know I should too.
4. Sitting across the room from me, Bill Cosby asked if I knew what a cappuccino was.
5. With my hands tied behind my back, blood streaming from my chin, and a knife lying close by, my mother walked into the room.
I hope you enjoy delving into the possibilities and letting your mind wander into imaginary worlds.
1. The view out the window was pleasant and then the door to the plane opened.
2. I don't like to lie.
3. My wife's doctor told her to push but I didn't know I should too.
4. Sitting across the room from me, Bill Cosby asked if I knew what a cappuccino was.
5. With my hands tied behind my back, blood streaming from my chin, and a knife lying close by, my mother walked into the room.
I hope you enjoy delving into the possibilities and letting your mind wander into imaginary worlds.
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