Dispatches from 2004
I'm recycling one of my old binders from college and using it to organize my notes for the GRE subject test. I must've used it last in my Women and Film class, which I took with one fabulous Lindsey Turner. Some of the paper is clear and usuable, but some pages have random notes on them. Allow me to share my bits and pieces:
Mom wants me to work for Ladies' Home Journal. Bleh. They're always still bigger. Thanks, God.
:::
First movie audiences immigrants, directed at working class. Movie theaters had bad wrap -- third tier prostitutes. Unions made movies. Placebo.
:::
Ideology is this -- women are more moral, so they should go out in public and clean it up. First female readers want to learn to do this -- middle class has lots of time. Read Uncle Tom's Cabin.
:::
High school is more damaging than pot.
On one page, I ramble on and on about Anne Frank's diary and how it took the focus off the fact that the Holocaust was about anti-Semitism. Apparently, according to my notes, the fact that the public accepts her diary as the ultimate document in Holocaust studies is dangerous because it distracts from the horror of the real issues. As I read these notes, I realized that my professors could've told me anything and I would've eaten it up and pooped it out as fact, provided it wasn't religious or just plain stupid. Now that I've spent some time in the leadership chair wearing the teacher crown, I wish I could go to those classes and take better notes and do my own research. But we don't think about those things in college, do we? We think about high school. Hilarious.
On the front page in the binder, there's a pretty awesome picture of a pregnant Tori Amos lookalike. Her baby is kicking through her stomach while she receives a strawberry milkshake like communion. So packed with symbolism. Ummmm... I wonder how many of these were messages scribbled to Lindsey while our questionably feminist professor rattled on about breasts and what's-her-face with the big eyes. I miss college. And, sometimes, I'm thankful for the black holes planted amongst my belongings.
Mom wants me to work for Ladies' Home Journal. Bleh. They're always still bigger. Thanks, God.
:::
First movie audiences immigrants, directed at working class. Movie theaters had bad wrap -- third tier prostitutes. Unions made movies. Placebo.
:::
Ideology is this -- women are more moral, so they should go out in public and clean it up. First female readers want to learn to do this -- middle class has lots of time. Read Uncle Tom's Cabin.
:::
High school is more damaging than pot.
On one page, I ramble on and on about Anne Frank's diary and how it took the focus off the fact that the Holocaust was about anti-Semitism. Apparently, according to my notes, the fact that the public accepts her diary as the ultimate document in Holocaust studies is dangerous because it distracts from the horror of the real issues. As I read these notes, I realized that my professors could've told me anything and I would've eaten it up and pooped it out as fact, provided it wasn't religious or just plain stupid. Now that I've spent some time in the leadership chair wearing the teacher crown, I wish I could go to those classes and take better notes and do my own research. But we don't think about those things in college, do we? We think about high school. Hilarious.
On the front page in the binder, there's a pretty awesome picture of a pregnant Tori Amos lookalike. Her baby is kicking through her stomach while she receives a strawberry milkshake like communion. So packed with symbolism. Ummmm... I wonder how many of these were messages scribbled to Lindsey while our questionably feminist professor rattled on about breasts and what's-her-face with the big eyes. I miss college. And, sometimes, I'm thankful for the black holes planted amongst my belongings.
1 Comments:
This is why I never throw anything away.
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