Ariel and Davina presented on Freud and psychoanalysis in Contemporary Literary Theory today. In honor of psychoanalytic theory, Ariel decided to bring her bright lime green foam miniature brain to class, which we happily threw around the classroom while we waited for Professor Malandra.
Buck (Professor Buchanan) usually saunters by our classroom door on his way to pick up papers or some other such nonsense before heading over to his playwriting class. Shirly happened to have the brain in her hand as he walked by, so she threw it at him. He was deft enough to dodge her foamy brain missile.
He, in turn, proceeded to grab the brain and use it as a projectile, with me as his target this time. The war was officially on, with him standing at the doorway, books in tow, and me sitting my chair from the other side of the classroom, hurling the brain as accurately and powerfully at each other as we could. Sadly, he managed to escape most of my attempts to knock some sense into him.
Once Professor Malandra walked in, we quickly clued him in on our discussion of how we could further harass our favorite professors. We tried to enlist his expertise in our efforts, but to no avail. It would greatly help us to know the weaknesses of each of the professors so we could attack them each one by one [*evil laughter ensues], but unfortunately, he was unwilling to betray his fellow professors.
Our discouragement was brief, however, because once class dismissed, we sneaked down to Buck’s office, bid our time in Dr. Van Zandt’s office—visiting with her while we waited for our classmate to finish her conversation with Buck—and finally snuck in with the green brain in hand.
Buck was leaning back in his desk chair, when we invaded his office, daydreaming with his hands clasped behind his head. Thinking quickly, I lobbed the brain at him like a grenade, watching my bomb land on his chest and shock him out of his reverie. Then we ran out of his office like a bunch of hoodlums and sought refuge in Dr. Van Zandt’s office.
We hid there, wondering how Buck would seek his revenge. I ventured a peek down the hall while Ariel hid herself behind Dr. Van Zandt’s door, and Shirly sat laughing hysterically at us from her perch on the ottoman. I was beginning to get nervous, because I didn’t hear or see anything down the hall. Professor Davidson walked by and gave me a funny look, since I was popping my head in and out of the doorway to scan the hall for danger.
I waited a little while longer, hearing Professor Davidson stop at Buck’s office to consult him on something. Thinking that Buck’s attention was diverted by Professor Davidson, I felt that the most eminent danger had passed and that all was safe again.
I turned back to reenter the conversation that Shirly, Ariel, and I were having with Dr. Vandt. Behind me, I heard footsteps approaching; I turned in time to see Professor Davidson walk by, take the green foam brain out of concealment, and deftly throw it at my exposed back.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of my situation. My own English department advisor had betrayed me, had joined leagues with my enemy, and avenged Buck on me. Needless to say, I don’t think you can find that kind of fun and mischief at any other school.
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Here comes the bride...
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Everyone is getting married. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit. But the word “wedding” has been revolving around in my head quite a bit over the last several weeks. I know it’s definitely a hot topic at Biola, but the wedding bug isn’t limited to just that portion of my life. It affects my family, my church and my friends.
For example, my cousins and I are all eagerly anticipating my cousin’s marriage to her fiancé, who I think we’ve already accepted as part of the family. At the same time though, it feels really strange to think about. I still remember our crazy adventures, running around and seeking out mischief during our dad’s basketball tournaments. Or the special, personalized cousins’ newsletters that I received in the mail, complete with coloring sections and games (she was definitely meant to be a graphic designer).
I remember gathering the troops and walking down the street to the corner store where we would buy ice cream to combat the sweltering summer heat of Sacramento. I have very fond memories of the many late nights we had, sleeping over at one cousin’s house one night, and then moving camp to another cousin’s house for the next.
It’s finally beginning to hit me that I’m actually growing up. The last of the thirty-some cousins are going to be in college within the next year or so. The next generation in our family is exactly that—the next generation: the sons and daughters of my cousins, along with (the future offspring of) my brother and myself.
To return to the topic of marriage, at my church, we’ve had so many weddings that we’ve almost got it down to a fine science. The same people do the organizing and planning, the same people serve food or set up the reception, the same people serve as ushers, the same people prepare the music, with little adjustments here and there based on who’s getting married.
When I returned to school after the summer break, I had a few classmates who came back with new surnames adorning their own name and glittering diamond rings adorning their fingers. And it is most disconcerting to hear them say, “My husband this...” or, “My husband that…” during class. Even last semester it seemed like we heard of at least one new engagement every weekend.
Many of my good friends are getting engaged or planning for their upcoming weddings. I can think of three or four at this very moment. Today, in fact, I bumped into one of my English major friends who is graduating this spring. During our short conversation, I asked him about his post-graduation plans.
“Um…well, I’m getting married,” he answered. Then he proceeded to tell me about how excited he is about the new home that they will be moving into after their wedding. The idea of starting a new home or new family is so foreign to me, so far away. I can’t imagine—at my age—being anywhere near ready to get married.
Maybe it’s because I’m so single. Or because I still feel that there’s a lot for me to do before I settle down. I suppose there’s something beautiful about being a young couple, working together to build a future. But I have my own dreams and ideals other than being somebody’s wife.
The romantic in me is torn between the picture of marital bliss—realistic or unrealistic as it may be—and the equally romantic (to me, anyways), of traveling around the world to learn new languages, meet new people, and experience new cultures. I don’t doubt that I want to be married someday—I’m as anxious as the next girl to meet my true love. But I’d like to think that someday, I will find someone who will love me for who I am, aspirations and all.
Someone asked me yesterday if I’m a romantic. I’m not at all a mushy-gushy kind of girl—the kind who already knows the design of her wedding dress, the colors for her flowers, the location of her wedding, the dream house she will live in, and the tall, dashing man who will be her husband. I don’t have any idea what kind of ring I want or how I want to be proposed to.
I can appreciate sweet, romantic gestures. Part of me longs for that—for companionship, for affection, for love. But those things come in their time, and that time seems so far away to me. The future is so uncertain, full of so many possibilities. The only thing I know for certain is that God is in control; I must continue learning to find my contentment in him, and He will direct my paths in ways that will surpass my most romantic dreams.
For example, my cousins and I are all eagerly anticipating my cousin’s marriage to her fiancé, who I think we’ve already accepted as part of the family. At the same time though, it feels really strange to think about. I still remember our crazy adventures, running around and seeking out mischief during our dad’s basketball tournaments. Or the special, personalized cousins’ newsletters that I received in the mail, complete with coloring sections and games (she was definitely meant to be a graphic designer).
I remember gathering the troops and walking down the street to the corner store where we would buy ice cream to combat the sweltering summer heat of Sacramento. I have very fond memories of the many late nights we had, sleeping over at one cousin’s house one night, and then moving camp to another cousin’s house for the next.
It’s finally beginning to hit me that I’m actually growing up. The last of the thirty-some cousins are going to be in college within the next year or so. The next generation in our family is exactly that—the next generation: the sons and daughters of my cousins, along with (the future offspring of) my brother and myself.
To return to the topic of marriage, at my church, we’ve had so many weddings that we’ve almost got it down to a fine science. The same people do the organizing and planning, the same people serve food or set up the reception, the same people serve as ushers, the same people prepare the music, with little adjustments here and there based on who’s getting married.
When I returned to school after the summer break, I had a few classmates who came back with new surnames adorning their own name and glittering diamond rings adorning their fingers. And it is most disconcerting to hear them say, “My husband this...” or, “My husband that…” during class. Even last semester it seemed like we heard of at least one new engagement every weekend.
Many of my good friends are getting engaged or planning for their upcoming weddings. I can think of three or four at this very moment. Today, in fact, I bumped into one of my English major friends who is graduating this spring. During our short conversation, I asked him about his post-graduation plans.
“Um…well, I’m getting married,” he answered. Then he proceeded to tell me about how excited he is about the new home that they will be moving into after their wedding. The idea of starting a new home or new family is so foreign to me, so far away. I can’t imagine—at my age—being anywhere near ready to get married.
Maybe it’s because I’m so single. Or because I still feel that there’s a lot for me to do before I settle down. I suppose there’s something beautiful about being a young couple, working together to build a future. But I have my own dreams and ideals other than being somebody’s wife.
The romantic in me is torn between the picture of marital bliss—realistic or unrealistic as it may be—and the equally romantic (to me, anyways), of traveling around the world to learn new languages, meet new people, and experience new cultures. I don’t doubt that I want to be married someday—I’m as anxious as the next girl to meet my true love. But I’d like to think that someday, I will find someone who will love me for who I am, aspirations and all.
Someone asked me yesterday if I’m a romantic. I’m not at all a mushy-gushy kind of girl—the kind who already knows the design of her wedding dress, the colors for her flowers, the location of her wedding, the dream house she will live in, and the tall, dashing man who will be her husband. I don’t have any idea what kind of ring I want or how I want to be proposed to.
I can appreciate sweet, romantic gestures. Part of me longs for that—for companionship, for affection, for love. But those things come in their time, and that time seems so far away to me. The future is so uncertain, full of so many possibilities. The only thing I know for certain is that God is in control; I must continue learning to find my contentment in him, and He will direct my paths in ways that will surpass my most romantic dreams.
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