Cheese It-- It's the Dean
I haven't written for a month or so while I considered whether to write seriously or humorously about an incident that occured after my last post. It seems that a SYT was offended by my mentioning her (favorably, sort of ) on this blog. Instead of confronting me (she sat right next to me in class) she sent two of her friends (anonymously) to complain to the Dean of Students, saying that I made her "uneasy". This auguste personage bade me come post-haste to his office, threatening to "take it to a higher authority" (a bigger Dean?) if I didn't show.
I called my faculty advisor to find out what thunderbolts could strike me for non-compliance. She said that I could simply e-mail the guy my response, but since (1) I didn't know exactly to what I was responding and (2) it seemed gutless not to show up, I toddled over at the mandated time and timidly (for me) poked my nose into his office, followed by the rest of me.
At first I thought he was going to censor my blog, which would probably have caused a conflagration ending with me quitting Trinity's graduate program. Instead we had a non-confrontational discussion with me suggesting that the aforementioned young ladies come out of hiding (talk about gutless!) and actually discuss with ME (the actual author) what concerned them about the blog. The Dean agreed that that was a reasonable strategem and would suggest it to the SYTs . End of conferrence.
The upshot of all this is that I never heard from any of the "offended" parties. The girl in my class moved across the room, thereby depriving herself of the presence of the closest present-day facsimile to James Joyce she will ever meet. I'd apologize to someone if I knew what I was apologizing for (but I probably wouldn't mean it, and she'd know because I don't lie well to women). Meanwhile I have no intention of changing my blog, except to improve my writing and possibly impart more significant tidbits of wisdom from the catbird seat (with a nod to Red Barber).
In that vein, I should report that our little "Algonquin" group at the Bistro seems to have acquired a few more associate members (to accompany Brett, me , and the Dogg). On Tuesday, in addition to reading our attempts to imitate a monologue by Leopold Bloom, we had a discussion on whether modern young women's struggle to squeeze into one-size-too-small jeans was analogous to their ancestors debacles with girdles and corsets (initiated by my observing a well-stuffed example passing our table--it's never a good idea to pass too close to our table). We also had a lively discussion re the campus explosion of recently-dyed blondes. Rachel (new Algonquin associate) wanted to know whether I considered her lightly -tinted hair to be "blonde". I know better than to answer that question. I'd rather discuss something less controversial, like abortion or the Iraq War. Brett says I have the unique ability to piss off an entire room in less than 3 sentences. Three? I must be slipping.
Later.
I haven't written for a month or so while I considered whether to write seriously or humorously about an incident that occured after my last post. It seems that a SYT was offended by my mentioning her (favorably, sort of ) on this blog. Instead of confronting me (she sat right next to me in class) she sent two of her friends (anonymously) to complain to the Dean of Students, saying that I made her "uneasy". This auguste personage bade me come post-haste to his office, threatening to "take it to a higher authority" (a bigger Dean?) if I didn't show.
I called my faculty advisor to find out what thunderbolts could strike me for non-compliance. She said that I could simply e-mail the guy my response, but since (1) I didn't know exactly to what I was responding and (2) it seemed gutless not to show up, I toddled over at the mandated time and timidly (for me) poked my nose into his office, followed by the rest of me.
At first I thought he was going to censor my blog, which would probably have caused a conflagration ending with me quitting Trinity's graduate program. Instead we had a non-confrontational discussion with me suggesting that the aforementioned young ladies come out of hiding (talk about gutless!) and actually discuss with ME (the actual author) what concerned them about the blog. The Dean agreed that that was a reasonable strategem and would suggest it to the SYTs . End of conferrence.
The upshot of all this is that I never heard from any of the "offended" parties. The girl in my class moved across the room, thereby depriving herself of the presence of the closest present-day facsimile to James Joyce she will ever meet. I'd apologize to someone if I knew what I was apologizing for (but I probably wouldn't mean it, and she'd know because I don't lie well to women). Meanwhile I have no intention of changing my blog, except to improve my writing and possibly impart more significant tidbits of wisdom from the catbird seat (with a nod to Red Barber).
In that vein, I should report that our little "Algonquin" group at the Bistro seems to have acquired a few more associate members (to accompany Brett, me , and the Dogg). On Tuesday, in addition to reading our attempts to imitate a monologue by Leopold Bloom, we had a discussion on whether modern young women's struggle to squeeze into one-size-too-small jeans was analogous to their ancestors debacles with girdles and corsets (initiated by my observing a well-stuffed example passing our table--it's never a good idea to pass too close to our table). We also had a lively discussion re the campus explosion of recently-dyed blondes. Rachel (new Algonquin associate) wanted to know whether I considered her lightly -tinted hair to be "blonde". I know better than to answer that question. I'd rather discuss something less controversial, like abortion or the Iraq War. Brett says I have the unique ability to piss off an entire room in less than 3 sentences. Three? I must be slipping.
Later.
posted by Papa Bill | 2:18 PM
|
15 comments
