patois, etc
Nov. 17th, 2003 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseI miss Katherine. And I hate my linguistics class.
These two sentiments may not seem very closely related, but a lot of what we've done in this class seems to remind me of her - of all the things she taught us and said and tried to convince us that we should learn. And, more than anything, I'd love to have someone to sound out for opinions on whether or not I should buck up and move toward the teaching degree.... despite the fact that I apparently no longer have that option through my own major.
We worked a bit on Southern US dialect in this chapter... sort of fun memories attached to that. But the book is so damned sanctimonious, smarmy, and holier than thou that it makes me want to scream... not to mention become even more cynical and bitter than I was before. It seriously makes me ill some days. I want to run about screaming "I already thought this before, but now you've mad me so angry by trying to drill it into my head that I want to disbelieve everything you've said and be elitist and annoying just to spite you and all that you stand for."
Must return. Have one last problem set to do before I can move on and do the much easier work of writing a one-page paper on Foucalt. Who'd have thought that my very complicated literary theory class would be easier than English Language Study?
I can't wait til this quarter is over, just so I never have to go to another session of this damned class.
These two sentiments may not seem very closely related, but a lot of what we've done in this class seems to remind me of her - of all the things she taught us and said and tried to convince us that we should learn. And, more than anything, I'd love to have someone to sound out for opinions on whether or not I should buck up and move toward the teaching degree.... despite the fact that I apparently no longer have that option through my own major.
We worked a bit on Southern US dialect in this chapter... sort of fun memories attached to that. But the book is so damned sanctimonious, smarmy, and holier than thou that it makes me want to scream... not to mention become even more cynical and bitter than I was before. It seriously makes me ill some days. I want to run about screaming "I already thought this before, but now you've mad me so angry by trying to drill it into my head that I want to disbelieve everything you've said and be elitist and annoying just to spite you and all that you stand for."
Must return. Have one last problem set to do before I can move on and do the much easier work of writing a one-page paper on Foucalt. Who'd have thought that my very complicated literary theory class would be easier than English Language Study?
I can't wait til this quarter is over, just so I never have to go to another session of this damned class.
