Posted on November 27th 2013
A WASPing We Shall Go
By Alex Linder
Ok...for those who can't decode WASPing, I'll cut, copy and explain. Using others' demise to further our comedic and educational aims is the heart of everything high-minded WASPs DON'T stand for, but it's also the dead frog-fucking center of everything I DO, so lets embark posthaste.
Such a wonderful spirit.
WASPs have no souls. They have spirits? They have spirits of accountants too gutless to embezzle. Maybe. I mean, I'd bet the other way there too, but I suppose it's possible.
And of course, if you aren't on their like list, then you're mean-spirited. Not wrong. Deficient in some imaginary virtue 'good' people (their circle) possess. This is a chickenshit way of moving through the world, but it is their way. I am quite honest when I say the jewish way is preferable to the WASP way. It's better to be an honest, down-to-earth criminal than whatever it is WASP elite think they are. Again, I'm not talking about Bob Parley in his rotten Ford with his ugly dog, I'm talking about the lacquered and breath-minted elite.
I cannot fathom that my sisterfriend Katherine is gone.
That isn't tolerable. A rat would emete that shit. Your "sisterfriend"? Jesus Christ Risible.
Future times, in this beautiful life,
WASPs are OBSESSED with using words like HIGH and BEAUTY and SPIRIT (it's a softer, perfumigated version of Lenin's PC's attempt to create a alternative reality via words) - really, all WASP culture is like Mary Baker Eddy + water. I know not even one percent of you will appreciate what I mean viscerally, but perhaps you can grasp it mentally: Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health is the WASP mentality raised to the highest degree, or ad nauseam, ad ridiculum, ad abstrusium. Ultimately, by this way of thinking you get to a language in which everything is abstract and, well, glides into and out of everything else, is perfectly transitive. All becomes one. It's the most frustrating thing in the world to read and try to make sense of. Well, anyone with sense can make it for nonsense with a few minutes' review, but you still might have to go to Sunday School for a good many years. Anyway, this high-minded gunk, for proper WASP elite are never anything else, creates a cultic atmosphere that is appealing to many or even most elite women, and far too many elite men. They create an atmosphere through their use of words, and a milieu through their actions and connections and institutions. If you don't speak, act and think like they do, and there are very good reasons not to, they will discover you and ostracize you. They are the opposite of a relaxed, reality-based community; they are rather a cult of high-minded strivers and seekers who call what they do service. They do well by doing good, as they see it. They might say because.
we would have experienced together over the coming years, growing older, will never happen. Ideas and projects that we would have helped each other create have gone silent. I will miss her warmth, humor, and brilliance.
Gauche as a prole's personal ad. The woman willingly spent her life studying and rising in a cult built on slitting animal throats as a way to propitiate the higher powers. Real friggin' noble.
Future laughter and wit in duet now deflected or echoing alone. The only way forward is to tend to the special lights that she emitted, and kindled in others. We love you Katherine. Thank you Pomona College for being her professional home for so many years.
Hmm...I suspect her bioluminescence were due to fungal infection, perhaps contracted from one of the donkeys this bongo-whapper assassinated. One of the risks of the trade.
facilitate class discussion better than anyone I have ever had teach me
That's a good compliment; she can be posthumously proud of that one. ... How WASP of me. I included a positive remark to feign even-handedness. The real me thinks these students praising her class discussions liked her ditching of solid academic work for braindead femalical jibber-jabber.
She had the gift of completely validating and accepting a person for what they are while at the same time encouraging them to be better.
You are awesome, mmkay? But if you were awesome and bathed regularly...holy shit man...Has the chart got a position ABOVE number one??
Katherine deeply influenced my teaching. At a workshop for new faculty
at Pomona College ten years ago, Katherine had all of us sitting in a circle
playing different African drums, some loud and others quiet. We each had a rhythm
to play. Initially our drumming was a frantic mess. She showed us in a dramatic
fashion how important it is to leave the pauses between phrases empty, so that
the other drum voices could be heard. Whenever there is a pause in one of my
class discussions, I remember Katherine and resist the urge to fill the quiet
with my own voice. So often the voices of students that are not often heard come
forth at those moments. I am so thankful to Katherine for helping me to make
space for those voices.
That's called antiphony, nigger! It's damn good too, as the niggers do it, listen to a Farrakhan speech. Listen to a Goyfire.
Words cannot describe our collective loss.
Oh yes they can. Words can describe anything. For example, your bottom looks like a exploded beanbag chair collected in a discount shopping bag.
I still can't wrap my mind around this.
I know, man. The bornin' papers clearly stated everyone gets to live to 92 in perfect health, so what-t-f gives with dying at 52?? We need to appeal this to some federal coroners' court.
Professor Hagedorn was a beautiful mind and a
There it is: the WASP's highest of holies: a beautiful mind. That term is catnip to them, what they aspire to, what they award each other. Remember Barbarba Bush's not troubling "my beautiful mind" with the horrors of (Afghanistan). I've never understood how a mind can be beautiful. The concept is non-cognizant, as the pretentious like to say. It is people who throw around garbage terms like this who are very often the practitioners of the lowest forms of scumbaggery, just as it is very often the people who proclaim their love of animals (another WASP stereotype) who are shittiest to actual humans. As a writer accurately summed up WASPS, they love dogs and hate people. The whole thing is just eddied Eddy: if we pretend bad things don't exist, or anything/one we don't like doesn't exist, then it goes away. Reality is determined by us! Reality is a social construct. And they've done all they could to make it so. All cults are like this. Realitarians are hated and need not apply, and if admitted and discovered, given the order of the boot. My mom graduated from Pomona. She wanted one of her children to go there. I did. If Pomona had had inkling of my views, granted not as fully formed on entrance as exit, I would never have been admitted - and the Dean of Admissions more or less said this straight out in a hostile LTE back when I was Opinions Ed. at the student paper. This cult loves niggers and hates sniggers. Ah, who'm I kidding. I was the bad guy, and I loved it, just like Tony Montana. This cult gots money and power, but it also gots nothing. Big heaping scoops of pissant nothing.
There is only one term WASPs love more than 'beautiful mind,' and that is...enrichment. My college president, David Alexander, among the dead, who will figure in this thread, believe you me, was enamored of this word. If this word could have been animatronicized into a vinyl doll he would have left his wife for it. He could not write a speech, hell a paragraph in a speech without using it. I always thought it was a real tell to where his mind lay. It honestly came off to me, with ears to laugh at it, like a Dickens character or a Butler character (The Way of All Flesh, remember the College of Spiritual Pathology). Everything enriches us, but we never touch on money, altho Dollar is our God and Dollar is our every waking thought. WASP's god is MONEY. He loves money like that ad dog loves BACON! But he can't admit this directly, so he has to come up with useful terms such as enrichment like a sort of e'erlit verbal candle one might buy in one of those womeny smell 'n' cards Stores of Niceness. It's enough to make a sane grown man chew on oleander, which is poisonous, for the arboreally disinclined among you.
helped me see music in a way that I'd never imagined it
Get a little suspicious at this sort of encomium, which is repeated through these letters. I suspect it might tinge into the political here, with them evaluating music by its ancestry rather than its, well, quality. A PC version of Twain's wholly justified snipe on Wagner: It's better than it sounds. I have a feeling that Guangian Throat Clearing fits that bill pretty neatly.
I remember every class period of Music 11
Geezus. No one remembers every class period of anything, even a seminar on Advanced Vampirology taught by Jebus himself. A phrase I can't quite remember fits here; this just goes beyond necessary exaggeration.
Katherine taught me the value of my own musical story, that there was a connection between learning and meaning. She encouraged me to stay close to my roots and to let my work find me
Yeah, that was a tactful way of saying the oboe escaped you, my darling; lay back and await your mate and metier, the noble kazoo. Rooty-toot toot! Woot!
These are all so close in spirit as the queer waiter who said to my table, essaying the sensuous, "I'll be right back with some warm bread and some cold water," a phrase that sparkled me for decades. By these I mean, taught me the value of my own musical story; like a painting that needs to be explained. Dopey broad, if your music has value, it's self-explanatory. Your burbling will hardly enrich it. she seemed to key into what each student cared about, even if we didn't know it ourselves ... That just verges on satire, makes the writer sound like a mind fit for Romper Room. Alt translation is this broad sucked after positive student evaluations, was afraid to kick students in the ass or send their tin ears to the recycling center. You can just see her handing this broad a triangle, "Here, this might be a little more your speed, mmkay?"
helped me see music in a way that I'd never imagined it. What I'll remember most are her potlatch suppers, usually featuring African vegetarian dishes, often based on beans. When the inevitable gas leak occurred, she giggled and called it found music.
Jesus. You can't make this stuff up. The she-Seinfeld of Grouse College.
Coming to terms with her loss—if this is even possible—will take us all a long time.
I feel like the girl in Vacation when Chevy Chase is painting the lily re the dead aunt.
the gift of music, the heart beating darkly. The topic was one thing, but what counted was the personal connection, the sense that thinking through music should be equal in complexity, vitality, and mystery to its subject
Really? Then why did she study third-world music? Has that species produced anything remotely as complex and nuanced as the white west? Isn't that pounding beat characteristic of music at its lowest, with nothing but limbic lust to express?
Beautiful person, beautiful mind, beautiful spirit, beautifully put - I defy anyone to tell me this unwitting repetition of these locutions of high-mindedness as they think of it is not characteristic of a cult. Repeating its mantra. They honestly are not aware of what they're doing, or how weird it is when you look at it objectively, or instinctively find it unappealing rather than appealing.
People these days are all about experiences, having them, collecting them, undergoing them, but it seems these seldom produce any interesting thoughts. A little in this world, any sector thereof, goes a very long way. If you know how to grind it up and make meal out of it.
Then at the bottom, from unrelated article 'beautifully written style,' jesus, it never ends with these people.