File spoon-archives/phillitcrit.archive/phillitcrit_2000/phillitcrit.0010, message 23

Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2000 02:11:29 EDT
Subject: PLC: Re: Lack of List Activity??

All in the lists,

Actually, what we should pray for is that G. Trail, from his miles-high 
cathedra (apparently the oxygen up there gets pretty thin), has so far 
deigned to mutter cute little nothings about Zen, mixed in with 
quasi-scriptural parodies. Hope, ye huddlers and whimperers, that it remains 
ever so; that G.T.'s Wotan-like eye falls not on any "paste-heads" (an 
elegant term used not of me, but of some other unfortunate list adherent in 
recent months) who fail to live up to his standards for rhetoric, logic, 
evidence -- if not taste or diplomacy.

It is always amusing to watch academic blowhards adopt the vocabulary of 
eight-year-olds on the playyard; not so, however, outside the confines of 
their offices and classrooms, where it becomes a rather sorry public 
spectacle. May I suggest that the primary reason for the recent list 
inactivity (blessed silence, if yer asks me) was almost total, universal 
exhaustion at the rhetorical mess that resulted from talk about interracial 
body odor and other high-academic topics. All the designated paste-heads on 
the list -- when not dropping off it entirely -- did indeed huddle together 
and pray for some kind of light, if not sweetness. (The lion and the 
honeycomb, indeed!) 

Just thought I'd warn you all in advance. Right now it's the first day of the 
new semester, the unknown students are giggling with naive anticipation and 
beginning to discuss their clever ideas. They clutch their new-smelling books 
and wonder what the Prof will look like, and what exciting new things he'll 
have to tell them. It even resembles the start of a reasonable discussion in 
a meeting of equals -- a seminar, perhaps. But before long the Prof will 
thunder into the room, decide who the paste-heads and twits are, and settle 
down to monologue about his version of God's own truth. You'll know when it 

Maybe it's just a bad nightmare I was having over the past couple of months. 
Just thought I'd share my shudders of prolepsis with you-all, though, before 
the stinkpots fly fast and thick and nobody much has a chance to say anything 
reasoned; before the next twenty flustered pronouncements arrive from on 
high, all within ten minutes, day after bloody day.


In a message dated 10/23/2000 9:25:50 PM Pacific Daylight Time, 

<<  As it was, so it always shall be. We
 should therefore huddle together and whimper, quietly, and pray for the
 light.  >>

     --- from list ---


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