Today in Myth, a girl — who will henceforth be known as “Bible Girl” — raised her hand as we discussed Genesis, the first few chapters of which we’d gotten as a handout Tuesday. Bible Girl, apparently, disagreed with classifying Genesis as a myth, and Dr. B paused for a moment, then gently inquired, “Were you here on the first day?”

Because, on the first day, Dr. B had addressed this very issue, no doubt aware that despite the fact that Towson is a left-leaning Christ-punching religion devouring campus, there might be a handful of folks of the Judeo-Christian faiths who might (heavens to Betsy!) be offended.

This is the definition of “myth” I have in my notes from the first day of class from Dr. B:

Story told between generations. May or may not be true - might be handed down orally.
Reflect geography, religion, way of life. Cultural and social values.

Genesis:

1. … is a story passed down from generation to generation.
2. … depending on your religious beliefs, may or may not be true.
3. … reflects religion.
4. … might reflect culture or social values (depending on what culture you’re a part of).

Bible Girl should’ve taken better notes, or perhaps, paid attention. (I’d call her “Spanker“, but that name is taken).

Dr. B., meanwhile, has earned coolness points from me. I e-mailed her a link to the Rev. Brendan Powell Smith’s “The Brick Testament” after class and got this reply: “That’s hilarious!” Yes, yes it is.

Unrelated Bulletin Point:

1. I saw Dr. M (last semester’s “Rock & Roll” Prof) at The Brick (the deli/dining area in the basement of Hawkins Hall) and we had a late lunch together, talking about movies and parking. I thought faculty got free parking, and had been discussing it with a woman I was in Shakespeare with over the minimester (motivated by this Towerlight article). Turns out the faculty pays for parking on a scale equal to their pay (”So, if you make $80k, you pay $800 for a permit. I pay $24 a year…” Dr. M quipped). And coming soon? A new pay-scale affecting everyone — students, employees, faculty — at Towson, dividing the campus into zones. The closer to the core zones you want to park, the more you’ll be paying. Joy.

2. Last semester, I wrote about how surprised I was by the number of students bringing notebook computers to class. When I’d taken my break at the end of ‘03, few if any brought computers to class. A surprise this semester? How many students are wearing fedoras and cowboy hats. There are quite a few of them, including my fellow Myth and HEL student, the Cowboy. WTF is with the hats people?!

Tuesday night I swung past Target for some school essentially: a desk calendar to mark all four of my class schedules, as well a folder for Fundementals of Fiction (for all her handouts, Dr. A advised us to get a special folder…) Anyway, I haven’t yet marked the calendar up with anything, and it is, in fact, still on my car’s backseat. But, when I do bring it in and begin marking on it, I know I will be turned past the months of February and March, past April and May, even through June. I will be going straight to July, and marking a special note on Friday, July 21st, to set the day aside with no intent other than to curl up on the couch with a copy of Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows.

HT: Speaking of …

It didn’t take long to figure out who in my Tuesday evening fundementals of fiction class I was going to dislike — a good thing, since, with only twelve people in the class (Dr. A said “I’m going to teach it as a seminar, don’t panic!” but I did panic), I was afraid I wouldn’t have quite the range I did with Net Speak Girl.

And than the Fratiot walked in. What’s a “fratiot”? “Frat Boy” + “Idiot” = “Fratiot.”

He scored “I hate you” points the second he walked in with his pressed pants, jacket, and stupid electronic something-or-other around his ear. Those points increased as he sat down next to a cute girl who was reading the campus paper and told her how he’d actually organized his frat’s polar bear plunge — the one on the front page? — but that since he was only the VP, he didn’t get mentioned by name, even though the President and Secretary of his frat did.

He scored more “I hate you” points when Dr. A showed up. I had Dr. A several years ago for Ethnic Lit, she’s an older woman, very nice and sweet, but sometimes there are communication issues — one student, making a joke about literary critics not being responsible for clothing fashions, had to explain it in excruciating detail. Dr. A is very knowledgeable and well spoken for those who care to pay attention to her, which I was trying to do — Fratiot, meanwhile, was making very loud and bored sound noises in his throat while texting (could he at least turn off the little buttom chimes?) and thwacking his pen across his notebook as if the notebook had raped and butchered his little sister and thusly deserved a painful and disgustingly long and torturous death.

The “I hate you” points topped out later in the class, when, after discussing the advent of the American short story (invented by Edgar Allen Poe) and Poe’s relationship to Baltimore, Fratiot raised his hand during a discussion of a rather famous Irish author, and said, “Oh, didn’t he live in Baltimore too?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

After Dr. A schooled him all old-school style, Fratiot tried to explain away his confusion: “Oh, well, there’s a bar named after him downtown…”

“Is it an Irish bar?” a guy on the other side of the classroom asked, and I thought I could hear in his tone that same “I’d like to drag you to the top of Stephen’s Hall clock tower and drop kick you onto York Road” rage that I was feeling.

Ahh, it’s good to be a pretentious arrogant ass-hole English major who only pretends to have any concept of the rules of grammar.