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Wow, today has been really crappy. I mean, today's the one-year anniversary of my dad's death - he died last year on Father's Day - and it's been a really rough week in general, bracketed by what would have been his 57th birthday this past Saturday and Father's Day this upcoming Sunday. So I wasn't exactly expecting a barrel of monkeys today. But it ended up being SO much more craptastic than I was expecting. >_<
I came out this morning to find a flat tire, which led to standing in the rain for twenty minutes waiting for a bus so that I could take an American History exam this morning that I stayed up late last night studying for. Then, when I went to go get some cash for lunch, the ATM broke the moment I used it. Since I didn't even have change for the vending machines - I'd used all my change for bus fare - I ended up having to walk fifteen minutes to the nearest working ATM (which, of course, was NOT affiliated with my bank and hence charged me a fee). I was finally able to get back and grab some lunch and start on the assigned reading for just before my American Lit class, where we got (surprise!) a quiz on the stuff that I hadn't finished reading. After being read to like kindergartners by this professor for half an hour, we split into groups, where one of the more vocal (and rather snotty and elitist, if I may say so) members of my group proceeded to jump down my throat for expressing my dislike of heavy dialect usage because OMG ITS LIEK SOOOO AUTHENTIC!!!1! Apparently it "adds a lot to a story." Obviously clarity is not included in that assessment.
And for approximately the next three weeks we'll be almost exclusively wading through dialect, between Huckleberry Finn and Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God. The thought of it makes me feel like digging my brain out with a rusty spork.
My self-prescription? Torre's pizza andalcohol videogames. (At least it's only a month or so until I'm legal again.)
I came out this morning to find a flat tire, which led to standing in the rain for twenty minutes waiting for a bus so that I could take an American History exam this morning that I stayed up late last night studying for. Then, when I went to go get some cash for lunch, the ATM broke the moment I used it. Since I didn't even have change for the vending machines - I'd used all my change for bus fare - I ended up having to walk fifteen minutes to the nearest working ATM (which, of course, was NOT affiliated with my bank and hence charged me a fee). I was finally able to get back and grab some lunch and start on the assigned reading for just before my American Lit class, where we got (surprise!) a quiz on the stuff that I hadn't finished reading. After being read to like kindergartners by this professor for half an hour, we split into groups, where one of the more vocal (and rather snotty and elitist, if I may say so) members of my group proceeded to jump down my throat for expressing my dislike of heavy dialect usage because OMG ITS LIEK SOOOO AUTHENTIC!!!1! Apparently it "adds a lot to a story." Obviously clarity is not included in that assessment.
And for approximately the next three weeks we'll be almost exclusively wading through dialect, between Huckleberry Finn and Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God. The thought of it makes me feel like digging my brain out with a rusty spork.
My self-prescription? Torre's pizza and
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I hate most books written in dialect too. Was forced to read Faulkner for a class once, and I think I must've never really gotten over it. ^^;;
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