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Old Poets, Dead Poets, Funny Poets

Skipping class this afternoon as a way of relieving my head from the stress I’ve been accumulating for the past little while. Plus this is my way of rebelling against my professor who randomly picks on me in class, asking random questions about something I don’t even know the answer to.

I’ve been stressing over this essay I’ve to write for my Romantic Poetry class, which I only finished this morning, which means I’m probably going to do badly on it. Peter has become my good luck charm, without him glossing over my essay and making things sound neat and orderly I’m pretty much set for a bad mark. I have never had such a hard time writing an essay before.

I said it once and I’ll say it again – I hate poetry. Hate it hate it hate it. Especially Romantic Poetry.

Here’re some random thoughts on the dead poets that are the cause of great anguish for me:

1) Wordsworth. Try as hard as I might, I can never understand Wordsworth. He’s all over the place - a couplet here, triple rhyming scheme there, and then he throws in random blank verses in poems that are perfectly normal without them. And then there’s the content, which is ok if it wasn’t in poetic form. When I read poetry, I always pause at the end of the line which makes it sound choppy, so to fix my problem, I tried singing the poems with made up tunes from old Hymns we use to sing. Although this made up for some definitely depressing songs, it worked like a charm. (No, don’t ask me to sing, I can’t sing.)

2) Coleridge. Coleridge is actually pretty amusing: he married the wrong girl, fell in love with another girl, realized he couldn’t be with her, fell into depression, was addicted to opium, broke his leg and wrote poems about it. His poems are less stressful than Wordsworth’s, especially because Coleridge thought he sucked so all I had to write about was why he didn’t suck and that it was just his depression talking. Still, there’s only so much about his not sucking I can write about.

3) Shelley, who is my favourite romantic poet (if someone who hates romantic poetry can have a favourite) because he talks fast (or so I imagine). It’s like he has ADD and can’t settle on talking about one thing and ends up talking about a million different things instead. Plus he died early, leaving Mary Shelley alone to write Frankenstein.

4) Blake. I’ve complained about Blake before. Actually, after I found out that Blake hated Wordsworth I became fonder of Blake. Every time I think about Blake I think about some angry old man with ink all over his hands, writing about made up myths and children on clouds, living in dark gloomy rooms in London. Now that I mention it, in my head Blake looks a lot like Peter Pettigrew (with all his fingers intack). It’s very confusing.

5) Byron. I haven’t really bothered with Byron, I just found the fact that he had his face plastered on plates and teacups entertaining, it’s like he was Justin Beiber. He was also a womanizer and had a clubfoot so he walked with a limp, which only goes to show you that all you needed was to be a poet in the 19 c. for girls to come flocking to you.

So that's it. Hope that wasn't too boring to read.

Anyway, we had a nerd party going on today at Gerstein. I ran into Eddie, Armin, Annabelle, Johnny, Melvin, and Vivian, who were all there sitting separately, unaware at first that they were all at the computer area. It was enough to start an LH meeting.

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State of Grace

On Saturday, John and I were at Costco buying groceries. The couple ahead of us at the check out counter took notice of the amount of buns we were purchasing and said, "Having a party?"


John said, "No, we're just making chili for the homeless."

They replied by telling us how great we were and what a good deed we were doing, then offered various ways to spice up the chili (such as adding bbq sauce). This amused me because it reminded me of a conversation I was having with the girls last week about the difference between doing a good deed and doing it because God asks you to. Anyone can do something good: they can start a charity, rebuild broken houses for those who can't afford it, or feed the hungry. The difference between charities and the church is grace.

It was like today. I finally started the after school program for kids.now that I've been talking about for what seems like forever now. Although the turn out was less than I'd expected, it was still good nonetheless, the kids I'm working with seem curious enough about what I have to tell them.

In the middle of it all, I asked myself, "What's the difference between what I have to offer and what teachers at the school have to offer?"

Essentially, we're all there to teach, mentor, and coach the young'ins to be productive adults. We have the same goals, just like the charities have the same goals of helping the homeless or those in need. The difference, I suppose, is grace: where one might do it for a job or for the sake of doing a good deed, grace is doing it for God, out of unselfishness, for the sake of others without asking for anything in return.

If anything, that's the most interesting lesson we can provide for others.

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Patience is ...

Unbeknownst to me, I've been awarded the 'most patient person' award by the people I volunteer for. H called me yesterday to tell me that the start date for the school I'm supposed to be doing an after school coaching program was yet again set back for another week for the 5th time since September. When I told H this was ok, although it really wasn't but I wasn't about to voice out my frustration, she said, "Oh you're so patient, I'm always telling everyone that you deserve the patience award if there ever was one!"


H then suggested that I coach the kids on patience, since I'm getting such a long practice of it. I guess I could, but talking about my patience is a boring subject to preach about, since it just involves a lot of sitting around and emailing.

There are plenty of other people who deserve the patient award, such as:

The homeless man on the street -
near an intersection known for addiction, who knows what is good but finds it hard to hate evil. Yet he loves with patience, is humble to those who despises him, and though suffering, he perseveres in prayer and hope.

The nurse -
whose face and kindness can be seen in labour over those who needs her - the weak, the fainthearted, those lost of hope, those seeking grace. Patiently she rejoices and never ceases in prayer for moments of peace in her patients.

The janitor in the library -
who never ceases to work and sings to himself. Never complaining and never sluggish, confident instead of better things to come. He never overlooks the work that needs to be done, though it doesn't seem to have an end; this daily routine has taught him faith and patience.

The immigrant -
patiently working for his beloved, whom he had to leave for promises of better things. Never grumbling at his situation, rather, he uses this to strengthen his heart, for this endurance will prepare him for the end of the race.

The granny on the streetcar -
who hauls a buggy of groceries up small steps. Though frail, her love is far from it: always kind, always patient, never boastful or arrogant or rude. Her abounding, patient love attracts people to confide with her; over cups of tea and over meals, they find comfort in her prayers with them.

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Valentine Bug

Happy Valentines Day!


I noticed that a few kids seem to have caught this Valentines Day bug. Last, last week, when Tabitha and I were on childrens, I over heard two girls whispering, "Do you think they're married?" *giggle giggle*

I'm like, dude, you guys are six, why are you thinking about marriage? But I suppose anyone over the age of 18 to a six year old 'should be already married.'

The gr. 9 girls especially are extremely curious about their teachers love lives. Their incessant questions about my love life has caused them to speculate whenever I don't give them an answer.

"Is he tall? I bet he's tall. Is he giving you chocolate for Valentines day? What are you guys doing?"

"His name is Tom isn't it?!"

"How do you know?"

"Because she blushed when I said Tom!"

My coworker, Lillian, told them she had a boyfriend and instantly, they bombarded her with questions, and I'm afraid they've ceased listening to her when she actually has something important to tell them.

Kids and their curiosity.

The youngest student, who I recently found out is 9 even though I thought he was 7 since he's the tinniest thing ever, announced yesterday that he has a crush on a girl. During the lesson he said, "I have a crush on someone!"

He later on revealed that her name is Alex and that he gave her chocolate because it was really, really cheap. And then he said, "Girls usually marry guys who are taller than they are right?"

"Yeah, usually."

"Ok because she's this tall." The measures up to around his forehead. "So I'm taller than her."

"Don't worry you'll grow taller."

"Yeah but I'm taller than her now."

This kid is the funniest thing ever, and this just goes to show you that it's not just the little girls who think about marriage, it's also the little boys.

Later on that night, I was giving a lesson to an ESL student and she was telling me how she 'confessed' to a guy last week and asked him go out with her. The guy is Filipino, and she's Korean, and she would write him love notes in Korean because she was too shy to write it in English. Isn't that the CUTEST THING EVER?

These kids are so entertaining. Sometimes I don't even feel like I'm at work, which is when I usually have to step up and order them around.

I'd be like, "Ok no more love stories! Back to work!"

And they'd be like, "Are you mad because you don't have a valentine?"

Jks.

Little kids are usually more hopeful about love. It's when you get to around my age that people start loosing hope and start dreaming about their future with cats. People just become less sensitive to bug bites.

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Souvenir

Last Monday I had to take my grad picture. My mom, trying to be helpful, gave me a pep talk: "Remember what I told you, don't raise your eyebrows like you do in pictures. Smile naturally, try and look like you're looking at a beautiful painting or something nice. And put some lipstick on, do you have lipstick? Here take this. This will be the most important picture you ever take in your life."


She then hands me purple lipstick. "You just have to put a little on so you'll just have a bit of colour. You don't have to make it so obvious."

My mom is super hip and has the fashion sense of a twenty year old, but this is one fashion advice I wasn't going to take, especially for 'the most important picture I will ever take in my life.' I don't think my mom even realized I was planning to graduate this year, all she knows is that I go to school downtown and bring home weird friends like Johnny.

In any case, I took her red lipstick instead. Just before my picture, I put it on and it looked terrible. I quickly rubbed it off hoping it doesn't make my lips look bloated or irritated.

Graduation photo tip #1: Play around with makeup the day before not 5 minutes before the your picture. (Also, use your own makeup, not your moms.)

And this brings me to:

Graduation photo tip #2: Make sure your white shirt has a large collar, especially if you're wearing your hair down. Mine was too small, and since my hair was down, it practically disappeared.

So much for being prepared.

The photographer was interesting though. I could tell he was getting tired and irritated from having to take peoples pictures all day. And he kept saying my name, "Hi Ann. Ok Ann, just sit and turn to your left. Now tilt your head to the right Ann, just a bit more Ann, ok now chin down Ann. No, no! Close your mouth, it looks better Ann."

The excessive use of my name deterred me from keeping a serious face on (the only way I can keep my eyebrows down). He kept telling me to turn my face to the left, and I begun to wonder whether or not this would make me look like I have a sore neck. Then, when he told me to turn my head to the right, my neck unhinged and swung the other direction, causing him to snap, "No! Never that much Ann! Slowly, turn your head slowly, to get the right position. Ann!"

Afterwards, the lady at the front said, "Congratulations! Expect an email in 2 weeks." She said the same thing to everyone else.

So that's that. After four years, this will just be a souvenir I'll be taking home.

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Humanity

Do you ever stop and wonder, "Why am I doing this?"


I had that this morning. During the commute down, I gave up my seat for an older woman who was sick. She was grateful, but I couldn't help but think, "Why did I just do that? I'm tired, cranky, and have a million things to do today. First come first serve!"

Sounds terrible of me to have thought that way, but I don't think there's anything wrong with thinking this way sometimes. I can't always pretend that giving up my seat is my first choice and that I'm always happy to do it. Anyway, I think I would have been too guilt ridden to have had kept my seat, all the while listening to her cough.

It's like what happened a couple of weeks ago, I was absorbed reading the Deuteronomy (I was trying to read it as fast as I could so I can get to the juicy parts of the Old Testament like Samson and Delilah) that I didn't notice two pregnant ladies waddle in the train. I mean, there was TWO of them, how did I not notice? They stood by me and started talking about their due dates, when, halfway through the commute when they started talking about hot flashes, I realized they were pregnant. I felt extremely guilty, I wish they would have just tapped me on the shoulder or something and say, "Hey, two pregnant ladies here, Samson and Delilah can wait!"

If I really think about it, I'm going to have to wait a long time for someone to give up their seat for me. The point is, although my examples of giving up a seat on train probably isn't the best to use for this point, we all want someone to take care of us, especially when we're tired, cranky, sick or pregnant. Also, take care of people who always take care of other people because taking care of other people is emotionally draining.

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Lethargy, Books, and Food

Ever have those moments of extreme lethargy because you've been doing too much lately? That's how I feel at this exact moment. I used to be the type of person who rolls out of bed at 10 a.m. every morning, and in a snail pace makes their way out of the house. For some reason, I've become the exact opposite: these days I'm wide awake at 6 am, fighting morning commute bravely, and drinking lots and lots of coffee. My current stage of lethargy this evening makes me feel like I'm reverting back to my lazy self.


I've also been blogging less, which is kind of scary. I use to have something to blog about everyday, and January was always the it month for blogging, where I had the most words to sprout out. Either I've become too self-conscious with what I write or there's a scientific study that links laziness with the amount of times you blog. Actually, it feels more or less like verbal constipation because I have all these things I want to write about but they never come out properly, or feel important enough to be written.

Anyway, so recently my mom has been buying me a lot of books - or rather, she's just finally come to realize just how much I read and therefore buys me a lot of books. One day she came home with a bag full of books and told me to take my pick. I was almost offended when I saw a beach read, a cookbook, and a detective novel in the bag. It's almost like giving a punk rock preppy clothes.

I've been passing off the books she's been buying me to Annabelle because I can't stand reading for fun at the moment when I'm too busy being sad and depressed by Coetzee. I'm currently taking a seminar class on him, which is already depressing in itself, but to have to analyze his novels is even more depressing. Its one dense politically and racially charged novel after the other. If ever I'm randomly moping around you'll know what kind of dark thoughts are swimming around in my head. I wonder if there will be a time when people will be too depressed to read any more of his novels.

Also, I started a new project called mango and taro because I might as well blog about what I eat. I've always been inspired by Manley's food blog but never found a reason to start one myself because I'm not passionate about food, but I think co-authoring this blog will be interesting.

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