Preserved Topic: English Lit (Page 1 of 1)

***Some foul language ahead*** And if it turns out to be an urban legend... who cares! <lol>

Remember the book "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"? Here's a
Prime example offered by an English professor at an American
University.

"Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The
process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to

his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first
paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph
and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then

add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to re-read
what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent.
There is to be absolutely NO talking and anything you wish to say must
be written on the paper. The story is over when both agree a conclusion

has been reached."

The following was actually turned in by two English students:
Rebecca (last name deleted), and Gary (last name deleted).
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The
chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now

reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he

liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind

off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about
him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out
of the question.
-----------------------------------------------------------
(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron
now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about
than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with
whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to
Geostation 17,???*?? he said into his transgalactic communicator.
"Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before
he
could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and
blasted a
hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent
him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
----------------------------------------------------------
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately but not before he felt
one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who
had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its
pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.
"Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,"
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously
excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her
youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no
newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of
innocent wonder at all the beautiful things round her. "Why must one
lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
---------------------------------------------------------
(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched
the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy
peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty
through
the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien
empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours

after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for

Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With
no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The
lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President,

in his top-secret Mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off
the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which
vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The
President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow
this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"
----------------------------------------------------------
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My
writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.
----------------------------------------------------------
(Gary)
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at
writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh shall I have
chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA??? Oh no,

I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele
novels."
----------------------------------------------------------
(Rebecca)
Asshole.
----------------------------------------------------------
(Gary)
Bitch.
--------------------------------------------------------
(Rebecca)
DICK!
---------------------------------------------------------
(Gary)
Slut.
---------------------------------------------------------
(Rebecca)
Get fucked.
----------------------------------------------------------
(Gary)
Eat shit.
---------------------------------------------------------
(Rebecca)
FUCK YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!!
----------------------------------------------------------
(Gary)
Go drink some tea - whore.
**********************************************
(TEACHER)
A+ - I really liked
this one.

Hahahaha
Funny

_________________
http://hzr.dzygn.com

Will they release the novel on Amazon ?


Mathieu "POÏ" HENRI

Funny stuff... almost definitely an urban legend, but who cares?

I have to admit, I was intrigued by the topic, being an EngLit major myself (or, as we used to say, graduating with a BA in BS). After reading the story, though, it sounds much more like a freshman comp story. Or a 101 story, at the very least.

Kind of reminds me of my Creative Lit 101 class. It's a non-major class, which means anyone can take it--and just about anyone did. I took it with my friend Howie (both of us were comp sci majors at the time, but a complete failure to understand one of our Vietnamese professors led us to eventually pursue other majors), just to test the waters really. Our prof was a very mellow guy, with glasses and a porn star mustache. He used to contemplate one particular spot on the ceiling when he was thinking, though none of us could ever quite figure what was there.

The class basically consisted of someone reading their work and then everyone taking turns commenting on it. Howie and I soon learned that we weren't actually supposed to critique the work, we were just supposed to say something nice about it. The first girl I critiqued almost cried, so everytime we couldn't think of anything nice to say about someone's work, we would say, "Get back to me on that." The prof wasn't a dumb guy, and he figured out that we really meant, "Don't get back to me on that." Needless to say, this was the norm.

One thing that amazed me about the prof is that he somehow always found something nice to say, no matter how steaming a pile of crap the particular work in question may have been. There was one guy in our class, though, that Howie and I particularly hated. I don't remember his real name, but we called him Bob (as in Dylan, because that's who he sounded like). He had to be one of the worst writers I have known. Well, one day he wrote a poem about waiting for a girl to call, and he plumbed new depths of hackneyed sentiment. I was wondering how the prof was going to say something nice about this, and we all waited while he examined the ceiling. Then, without looking down, he said, "When you say, 'I ran to the phone with the speed of a thousand anxious men,' what exactly do you mean? Is that a cumulative speed, because I would think that a thousand anxious men would be much slower than one anxious man, you know, most likely tripping and falling over each other." The whole class burst into laughter, Bob blanched--and he never read in class again.

Well, it was funny at the time, at least. I suppose you just had to be there. OK, back to the fun.

quote:

---

I would think that a thousand anxious men would be much slower than one anxious man, you know, most likely tripping and falling over each other.

---

Well, he's right...

Suho- OK, that quick story you had about being a Comp Sci major and changing because you couldn't understand a professor... Would ya quit telling things like that? I'm starting to get this eerie vibe anytime I read one of your posts because it's like you are talking about me... i.e. I'm right now a Comp Sci major, but considering math because there are two Comp Sci profs (husband and wife) that I can't understand because they are Korean, and have this really heavy accent.
As for the English Comp class you talked about, a friend and I went through that same thing, except our 'critique' was usually "I'll get back to you in bit." However, we soon figured out who in the class could take a real critique and thus really gave it to them when they deserved it. And being Monty Python fans, we would take bits from them when 'critiqueing' a paper.
i.e. "Well, of course, this is just the sort of blinkered philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome, spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist. You excrement! You lousy hypocritical whining toadies with your lousy colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding masonic handshakes. You wouldn't let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards! Well I wouldn't become a Freemason now if you went down on your lousy, stinking, purulent knees and begged me."
However, we would edit that one as necessary to apply it to someone's writing
Then there's this one:
me: Whaddayou want?
them: something
me: Don't give me that, you snotty-faced heap of parrot droppings!
them:something, but with a real confused look
me: Shut your festering gob, you tit! Your type makes me puke! You vacuous stuffy-nosed malodorous pervert!!!
them: going to find someone else to critique their paper first

Back on topic--
We had to do something real similar to that, where a few people take turns writing parts of the story. There were a few that were fairly entertaining, but I don't think any group came up with something as good as that though, haha.

My Gawd...I absolutely love the paper...I think it spells out in black and white, the differences between the sexes...it deserves an A+ IMHO...guess we'll haveta ask Krets though...after all, he teaches...

Brush off the veneer of society...and one has this paper...very nice. Thanks for posting it.

Lord_Fukutoku: Hehe... soon, my friend, you too will see the light. But math? No, you want to be an EngLit major.

In fact, you want to be a Creative Writing major, because then you get to take the higher level seminars where people write better and can actually take criticism. They're also usually very good at dishing it out, too. Then, after graduating with a major that is completely useless in the job market, you will head off to foreign lands to teach English, in the process having great and wondrous adventures. Oh, wait, that was me. Maybe you'll come to Asia to teach... um... math. Then again....

As for the paper spelling out the differences between the sexes, I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I see it as a caricature--taking one, prominent aspect of each sex and blowing it out of proportion. That's what makes it so funny.

Tangential thought: I love how people in freshman comp classes or CW 101 think that what they're writing is "literature." That amuses me to no end. I, myself, have never written a word of literature in my life. I've read a good deal of it, but never written it. (This statement, of course, opens up the whole can of worms that is: "What is literature?"

Hey!! Don't be dissin us computer science majors!
Edit: Grammar (that's why I'm a compsci major! )

[This message has been edited by Raptor (edited 09-02-2002).]

If I wasn't at work I'd be rolling...as is I'm stuffing down laughter and sending this page to friends.


hehe!

Huggles all!

Genevieve Hokanson
Student Intern, GPB
http://einstein.stanford.edu
http://www.geocities.com/genevievescu/

cringes at the thought of becoming an english anything major

[This message has been edited by Lord_Fukutoku (edited 09-03-2002).]