I made a relatively well-received Roots joke today. My only wish is that it were a reference to the novel and not the movie, not for reasons of intellectual integrity or a desire to see the purity of the written word furthered, but simply because I think the only thing harder to make a joke about in the early morning than Roots is Roots.
I made this joke in my discussion class this morning, a weekly three-hour marathon of early colonial one-up-manship. The format of this class is prolonged scoffing, as we all get our colonial ire up over how Puritan the Puritans really were, and take great joy in coughing politely and saying things like “I see what you mean, however…”
Being a total freak for colonial America, I get into a real tizzy over this class and pester all close friends and associates with stories of how in Puritan New England you could get the axe for bestiality if your pig birthed a baby pig that resembled you. I am additionally fond of this class because it allowed me to witness a young man moved almost to tears by his love for President Andrew Jackson (a love that seemed entirely based on the supposed ability of the prez to vomit blood on command).
Beyond this, however, I quite resent the habit of people in that class of staring earnestly into your eyes as if to convince you by force of will that their opinion on Goodwife So-and-So is really heartfelt and valid. These people don’t seem to understand that no one appreciates a face-stare; we are all just here to talk about how the Puritans favored the pumpkin as God’s elected fruit.
On a completely unrelated note, I am typing this from my workplace, and in the waiting-room sits a woman entirely unperturbed by the fact that she has a cigarette stuck behind her ear. What a greaser.
I made this joke in my discussion class this morning, a weekly three-hour marathon of early colonial one-up-manship. The format of this class is prolonged scoffing, as we all get our colonial ire up over how Puritan the Puritans really were, and take great joy in coughing politely and saying things like “I see what you mean, however…”
Being a total freak for colonial America, I get into a real tizzy over this class and pester all close friends and associates with stories of how in Puritan New England you could get the axe for bestiality if your pig birthed a baby pig that resembled you. I am additionally fond of this class because it allowed me to witness a young man moved almost to tears by his love for President Andrew Jackson (a love that seemed entirely based on the supposed ability of the prez to vomit blood on command).
Beyond this, however, I quite resent the habit of people in that class of staring earnestly into your eyes as if to convince you by force of will that their opinion on Goodwife So-and-So is really heartfelt and valid. These people don’t seem to understand that no one appreciates a face-stare; we are all just here to talk about how the Puritans favored the pumpkin as God’s elected fruit.
On a completely unrelated note, I am typing this from my workplace, and in the waiting-room sits a woman entirely unperturbed by the fact that she has a cigarette stuck behind her ear. What a greaser.
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