I parked like a mile away, because I didn't know where the fuck this place was relative to the one other building I have ever been inside. I already have decided to skip a fair amount of this class. That, or I'm going to act like a pretentious cock. Literature for the Handicapped 101, starring: Me. Ten minutes before the first session, and I've already passed judgment on every single person in the room. All sixty of them. The TA has a big head. One girl tripped, and almost fell twice between the time she came through the door, and then time she plopped her ass down in the theater style seat. She must be retarded or something.
The syllabus is not a homework assignment. The deluded goatee next to me has already marked with neon highlighter (thoroughly, mind you) the entire fucking thing... 'Nuff said?
Class begins, and after discussing the format of the class, the professor (who seems like she knits, a lot) asks if anyone has a favorite work of literature. One guy, wearing a Jhonen Vasquez tee shirt (What the fuck? Is this kid 13?) raises his hand and hollers "ENDER'S GAME!" The professor isn't familiar with Orson Scott Card. 7th grade science fiction. Good, but middle school, nonetheless. A douche bag in a tweed jacket (with a bit of a mullet... but not the trendy, hipster kind) says, in a really haughty voice, that his is "actually a poem, "Annabel Lee" by E.A. Poe", which the professor (THANK GOD) was, in fact, familiar with.
Then it happened.
Some moron, cunt, wearing a pink North Face parka, tight, sky blue jeans, and white Sketchers (White trash... with money?) said it.
"Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone!"
I almost vomited. It was the most ridiculous thing I'd heard yet. I wanted to scream. I immediately looked to the professor, with hopes that she would shoot this ignorant piece of shit down.
Much to my dismay, she not only accepted the answer, but decided to use it as a springboard to the next stage of the discussion... "What makes a work of literature timeless? What makes us feel the need to study it long after it is written."
HOLY CHRIST IN FUCKING HEAVEN. I AM SURROUNDED BY THE LOWEST FORMS OF LIFE. HARRY POTTER READERS WHO ARE OVER THE AGE OF 13.
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God, that sounds frustrating just reading about it. However, the general public and it's commitment to actually reading literature that isn't popularized by the media is slowly dwindling. Even I admit that I haven't made time to read anything worthwhile, which saddens me. I have Lolita and House of Leaves sitting right in front of me, unread. I feel ashamed.
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