juanluismartinezmcgough: this week's gems (and mircea eliade)

finally a class i liked at uni, 3 and a half hours worth too. even thou i came in 3/4 of an hour late.
a debate on mircea eliade's 'with the gypsy girls'
and it wasnt cuz it was the last one.
i'd barely read or understood the 50 page story, but it was grand. cuz it was the only ting i understand classes are; a bunch of ppl who've read the same thing debate to hell it.
over here it's a wreck cuz every teacher speaks for 3 hours a week straight.
over at england, thou we werent no bunch of genius at kent for heavens sake, it was much better cuz a bunch of ppl who'd read the bloody thing would sit in a round table and talk about the bloody thing they'd read. of course in theory, the problem about teaching tales today is there are too many (things to relate to), and we'd never read the same thing. so yeah, it's doomed to failure everywhere.
but here, no. here it's teacher with theory.
there was one example last year, which is supposed to be revolutionary, where he planted chairs in a circle and it was popular and all, only when you discover the rest, my god.
and that class was a pain in the arse cuz 1. each student went with his own book he'd read that 2. conformed with theory, so nobody had read the particulars and we were stuck with the theory, and an especially yukky modernist thing too.
so in this last class at uni we parted from theory to the particulars. my comprehensive skills are below minimum but some had read it 5 times, and all had to take part for the grade. and the teacher, who'd been banging on with theory for her entire life was to lead the way. it's sort of what it's supposed to be, only over here the teachers speak too damn much, including this one.
so what's eliade's gypsy girls about? well, there we go. was it fantastic, horror, archaic? was it postmodern? modern? as each student came in with their opinion, and each theory gave way to the particulars, i realised i was with the pedagogical equivalent of joyce's the dead. what i mean by this, i guess, well, whatever.
funnily enough, some aristotelian chick came out very impressed with eliade's interpretation and no-rhetoric lack of roots. another said the protagonist's lack of volition was sad, and so on, and my, was the time is money thing hammered in, with a protagonist talking about how many piano lessons he can fill in per week.
but it certainly wasnt worth wading throu two years of crap for. which are worth it for the beca i hope i won't have to give back, and are barely worth it at all for the amount of times i've had to leave the house (per week), and i can barely imagine what it's like for someone who hasn't the beca to hold onto. after all, who in their right mind will move their ass off the sofa without the money incentive if not young unaware minds who, if i may quote the guy from mad men, know nothing. what remains perhaps is exegetical or divulgatory sadness which i dealt with irony and mediocrity anyways. i mean, look at this:

hopefully once i stagger throu the remaining obligatory work, which is utter pain and time mongering (per week) i can dissolve into my desired irrelevance and mediocrity that consists in (movie) tales (i can relate in) and (probably only movie) women in filmaffinity (remember before filmaffinity when exegetes would complain the stars were the most ignoble thing in a review?)
salut!

white palace