The Last Post

This must be where I make a short reflection of this class and give my farewell. I suppose that's a swell itinerary.

You know what, I learned something this semester. I developed as a student and a person, man. Although I've not yet experienced my final exam, according to my other two exams there was a quite the difference. D to an A. That's perty good, I'll take it. What else? I read, surprisingly, something. My initial plan wasn't to "crack," yet not fall through the cracks, a book in college. But that changed, but there's still a problem. I've yet to finish the heralded B.K. I may have learned something, but learning still takes time; and in my case, a lot of it. I'm still pushing through, but it's underwhelming to have yet finished.

The emotion that surprised me most this semester was actually coming to nearly every class. Not cause I had to, but I wanted to. The teaching and material was engaging, and that's hard to find. I know that our professor is immune to praise, but the complement is there for the taking. Also, what made the class even more tolerable, I mean fun, was the fact that many of the students were active and put their word out there for interpretation and critique. Yes, many were quieter, but that's everywhere. Yet, no one really dominated the room. It was very democratic and socialized. Props, yos.

I hope that I get the grade I want and deserve, but numbers and letters don't mean much in a world of imagination.

A Little Push

What do I get for appealing to the wise? Appealing to authority? Appealing to the man? What do I get out of a radical change in my lifestyle? Hells nahhh, being school oriented? Where's my ends with that? Where's the love, where's the fun? Wasn't I doing just fine before? Really? Was I on the path to happiness? Can I get to happiness without this lifestyle change? Learning to read (faster and gooder) is best? Will this open more doors? Will I want to dig deeper if I enjoy it? How do I know what I think till I see what I say? What's and where's the point? Is there a point? Can I do something without being the best? Am I the best? Am I a bad person? Are these questions answerable? Do these questions have a theme? No? Is this stream of consciousness or is this for real? What do I need to do? What must I do?

Yes or no, all I need is a little push.

Presentations' Reflections

Rule one: don't be in a group with four other, the only others, girls. Naw, jokes on me, I suppose, and pardon my sexism. All's well after our prez. Did we have trouble organizing? Did we have trouble writing? Did we have theme trouble? Did we have many other troubles? Yes. Yes. Yes. Aaand, yeah, sure.

But hey, nothing ever goes according to plan, right? I suppose that it did, I mean didn't, 'cause it sure worked. A true success, did we plan that? Naw. I give all-around props to my group and mates. We did the job, boys and girls. By the way, wasn't my last ad lib in the skit a hail to sexism? No matter, that -ism doesn't exist in our generation, right? Only it's fun remains.

As for my singled-out prez. I thought that went...okay, at least. I'll take it, we'll say. Gotta hand it to them Dixies, they got straight to my point by "Taking the Long Way." Props, mates. I mean ladies, you liberated me. Anywho, they weren't the core point; that was all about my incompetence. Live and learn, yo.

Spoilers

The thing is, no matter which storytelling medium is offered, I hate spoilers. I hate those who ask questions during the middle of the movie. I hate those who tell me the content of a book which I'm behind on. I don't even like when someone reviews a book, film, music album, whatever. You have to figure it out on your own. Get. An. Opinion. Now this class has taught me that I'm not up to the read-speed status quo. Thus, I know many of secrets of, say, The Brothers Karamazov that I shouldn't have known, yet. And because of this, I've stalled. It's hard for me to continue with the novel. I am, begrudgingly, but it hasn't been the achievement that it's been built up to be.

An example, a main reason, I have trouble continuing is that the day I read that Dimitri K. has been accused for the murder of his father I also find out who the real killer is in class. To me, that's a head-shot.

Now I don't know what I have a bigger problem with. Spoilers? Or my inability to keep up? Ain't this quaint. It so appears that spoilers are a part of the class, and so is speed reading. Guess I should get a hobby, and we'll start with reading so I can apply it to my non-traditional lifestyle.

In the meantime, I'll give a shoutout to Generation Kill. Get Some, yos.

Preliminary Thesis Outline

My rough thesis is going to be based off of the story Cathedral and the characters within. In the story the blind man who represents the archetype of the "Old Wise Man" shows the younger less experienced man a different way of looking at life. That's what has happened this semester to me personally. I think something came to me this semester, maybe an epiphany, maybe it's wisdom.

Although my thesis is not set in stone, it's going to examine what I've learned through my semester's experience and the new and old friends and acquaintances who have influenced my personal character development.

Paronomasia

I am true fan of puns. Being a true fan of puns is like being a true fan of the Dallas Cowboys (which, ironically, I am as well), you're going to receive a lot of scrutiny. Since coming to Bozeman, I've advocated the art of the pun and my friends generally seem to respect my opinion of them if I am receiving groans from the "pun wars" which occasionally happen.

Then about a week ago, I'm told by a few friends that they read a fun fact. At least four people in a half-house said, "Spencer, did you know that puns are the lowest form of wit?" "No, really?" I say backtobacktobacktobackto--. How can this be? Puns are so clever, so simple. They shouldn't receive this kind of disrespect. But then I think, where did they get this information? They found that tidbit on "The STALL Street Journal." Hah, get it? The alleged lowest form of wit tidbit is from a source with a play on words within itself. Now doesn't this seem unfair? But this sways the argument in my favor, doesn't it.

Moreover, I reveal this anecdote to my professor who says that puns are numerously, successfully utilized within some of the most important pieces of literature. Therefore, if the "pun" is the lowest form of with then are Hamlet and The Holy Bible the lowest form of literature. Oo, that's debatable.

Backtracking: Traveling versus Reading

I still cannot understand why reading can provide a more vivid experience than traveling or simply checking stuff out. Books have description, and they force you to utilize your imagination, but if you get the chance to experience new places then how do they not supply the experience-ee with more descriptive information?

For example, I lived for six months in a foreign country. Moscow, Russia provided me more of a culture shock and enlightening experience. Not only was I forced to understand a new lifestyle, I was forced to adapt to challenges that a different culture offered to me. It was a challenge, and using my imagination and improvisation skills to get by everyday was essential. There was a barrier which I had to eclipse.

Books provide many of the elements that traveling does, and they force you to expand your mind. I suppose the main difference is the experience of the matter and challenge of it. It's something that I prefer, but you cannot deem one to be objectively better than the other.

Butt(e)

This past weekend my mother and brother came down from the AK to Montana. The bro's a senior in high school, so, naturally, they come down to the old country to check out colleges, University of Montana specifically, and I'm committing tangency. Anywho, the "old country" is Butte, Montana. My family lived there 15 years too long. Now, I don't want give Butte a objectively negative front; Butte has character, it's a community with an identity and a sense of pride, and, generally, the people there aren't bad by any means. Nonetheless, I've resided in three other places which, simply, fit me better. The bottom line is that Butte wasn't and still isn't a place I enjoy myself, not my in my other three kin members minds, just me.

Now that the context is set, let's take a look at the main event, a restaurant dinner party with my mother and five other sets of parents, parents of old and left-behind hockey team friends, who've known me from my diaper years, and I've haven't talked to or seen them in this kind of setting in nearly, to lay a number down, four years, since my last hockey game in a Butte Blues uniform.

Immediately I'm overwhelmed, and I don't know why. I'm becoming that fearful, insecure child of old. I don't know what to say so I start with the generic: "How have you been?" "How's life.?" Something like this and that ten times over, and all I can think is that I don't want to be here, all these eyes are judging me, what do they think of me being back here?, do they know that I can't stand it here? I was stressed. I was tired. I may have even been unhappy to be there, I cannot even remember and it was less than a week ago. And yet, I may have been refreshed, I think. I was reliving my old life that I've come to think that I dislike. Pardon my ambiguity, but I can't say how or why I dislike Butte, but I know what I know in my heart, and pardon my sensitivity. You know what, I think That, truly, was a bad day, a bad weekend, and I may have even understood a portion of my Tragic Sense of Life.

Back to, after two hours of old people conversing, eating, and drinking, I was beat, done, finished. I thought about nothing except the negative, and I did not express or vocalize it until my mother and I were alone, finally, at last. Yeah, we sure did talk, or maybe it was just me. A rant it was, still stressed and tired, and nothing seemed to feel better. I couldn't find anything to think or say which implicated that I was somehow satisfied to see my old "friends." I was trapped in pessimism, and I hated it, and it is what it is. The next day I went home.

I've been back here in snowy ol' Bozo for a week or so, and life is good, peachy-like. But not because I hold Butte in contempt, it's that I've had some time to leave my little negative bubble and think back on what happened that weekend with those people. And now that I've had some time to reflect, I don't think one thing that happened last weekend was truly negative. All those people had nothing but nice things to say, but I couldn't accept it then. I suppose I can now, but it's sad that I had to be so negative to realize the real thing. I was doing it to myself, the tragedy was brought on by me in that period, that weekend. I 'spose you have to know bad to differentiate it from good. Is that what the Tragic Sense is, that you must know what it is to know badness, to suffer. You must suffer or cannot know goodness. That just seems unfair, but it is what it is and that's the way things are, I think.

The only problem that I see is that I was suffering that weekend over nothing. There was nothing to complain about at that point in time, but how then could I feel that way? I think I'm just angry at my past, but life goes on, right? It does go on, but it depends on how much you let go of it. I think that you have to learn to let go because then you can let go of those bad memories, moments, and experiences.

The only thing we must learn is how to hold onto the goodness, but can we if life goes on?

Guilt Trip

Ivan Karamazov's argument against God is not good, it's beyond that, pardon the pun. Ivan has his own beliefs and he provides a context for those beliefs, but he also provides premises for his argument which rely on sources from the Bible's scripture. All in all, we should emphasize one of his conclusions, which is, paraphrasing; A world without God is a world without rules. If this is the world we live in then there are no boundaries. We may do whatever is allowed, which is anything and everything, limitless possibilities.

Thereafter in the novel The Brothers Karamazov we are introduced to Father Zosima's refutation of Ivan's argument. It's not that I've found the best refutation against Ivan's argument, but I've located a strong counter-argument from the life-in-text of Thy Zosima. Personally, I may have not have found the most applicable refutation, but the one I've located and have on-hand provides quite the query.

And I shall also tell you, dear mother, that each of us is guilty in everything before everyone, and I most of all. - Father Zosima's recollection from the memory of Alyosha Karamazov

Guilt is the main idea here. Guilt, why guilt? Think, from Ivan's point-of-view, why guilt? If there's not a God, then how is there a God if there's guilt? Many people feel this emotion, guilt, and they only feel that way if they've broken some sort of worldly, social, or moral rule. I would induce, that in Ivan's world, if there's no rules then guilt cannot exist. Yet, is there, shoot, probably. But how is there guilt in a Godless world if there's no rules? Sheesh, I don't know, don't most people feel guilt at some point in their lives, right? In my relatively brief life experience, guilt is inevitable, but does this mean that there's a God or none at all? Shoot, who knows, it's probable, improbable, or improvable. Nonetheless, the query stands, if the idea and potential for someone to experience guilt is possible then there has to be some lawful or moral rule that has been broken. The "Law" is based off morality, which must exist if there is guilt, which is based off of the idea of there being Divine Ruling, a code, a truth, a God.

From the POV of Zosima, it may be argued that the idea of guilt is a downfall of atheism. I 'spose it depends on who believes in guilt, in shame or in wrongdoing. If you don't have that emotional capacity, then believe what you want. But if you do, then consider character Zosima's potential refutation or indirectional idea.