Definitely not PC

(From my reading for history seminar)
I think Cesare Beccaria really dates himself with this sentence:

One may posit as a general rule that violent passions grip men strongly but not for long, and thus they are apt to cause those revolutions that turn ordinary men into either Persians or else into Spartans.

Overheard

Last year my roommate Robin had an idea that there should be a blog where one could write all the ridiculous things one overhears Wheaton students say. So just at the very end of the year, I started Overheard at Wheaton. (I'm Wilhelmina, and some of my friends have other pen names.) A week or so ago I printed some pages from the blog and posted them on the forum wall with an email address for submissions. It's been fun getting some submissions and watching the blog's ratings climb. Overheard has gotten more hits this week than Scattered Wits. I haven't been particularly discriminating about what I've posted as "Guest," but I think I will be in the future. Not every overheard conversation is good enough for this blog! :)

!

Today is National Punctuation Day.

"A celebration of the lowly comma, correctly used quotes, and other proper uses of periods, semicolons, and the ever-mysterious ellipsis."

How have you shown your appreciation of punctuation today?

Oh Monday morning.

This morning at eight, I burned toast in an epic way, filled the whole apartment with smoke, and set off the fire alarm.

Then I went outside and met my neighbors.

Wheaton students are forgiving, firemen are kind, and public safety is gracious and compassionate.

But I am still really hoping that my day gets better.

Un desayuno excelente

Arwen and her fiance invited me to join them and some of their friends in their Saturday morning breakfast club. Each week, a couple people cook breakfast for the group - I'll be making waffles in a couple weeks. Last week, Erin, Kate and Susanna prepared a delicious "south of the border" breakfast. Yeesum, who photographs for the Record, brought her camera, so I have these great pictures.

Kate, Erin, and Susanna - the cooks

Arwen

Fall might be here.

Delectable.

Jason delivers one of Chet's amazing cappuccinos to my outstretched hands. (I would like a stove-top espresso maker for my birthday. . .)

Arwen and Yeesum, the photographer

We all make mistakes, right?

A couple of my roommates from last year live in the same building as me, a couple floors below. I miss them, so I'm down there often to visit. The other day after I left their apartment, I lost track of how many flights I'd gone up and walked into the apartment I thought was mine. . . Didn't take me much more than a split second to figure out why there was a television and a bunch of guys sitting around. Eep.

Unfortunately, this was far too familiar.

Encouraged

I don't want to let any more days slip by without saying that the club fair was a greater success than I could have imagined. I am so encouraged, and a bit ashamed at how quickly I despair.

The biology secretary made a great banner and donated cookies and candies to attract people, and I had friends who set up the table, lent some materials, and manned the table while I was in class. We added nearly 30 people to the Voice for Life email list, and had some good conversations. One freshman said she had been walking through the tables at the fair, just looking for the pro-life table, thinking surely there must be one.

What is next, I wonder.

It was good.

Today I went to Home Depot and bought happiness. People say money can't buy it, but perhaps sometimes that's not true. I think I came pretty close today. And it wasn't even that expensive.

(I resolve to do something about the tacky scotch tape.)

Appearances affect my morale. Our apartment isn't very homey, which makes me gloomy sometimes. And while this is true of me, I'm not particularly good at changing those circumstances. The co-op and several different thrift stores haven't yielded anything that catches my fancy, but I think the greenery will help. It makes me happier to have something living to take care of. Remember my bean plant from freshman year?

Thank you, ice rocket tracker.

So somehow without realizing it, I changed my blog's security settings, and it is now searchable on the web. If you happen to google "Scattered Wits," a link to my blog pops up. I have a tracker set up on my blog, so that if I wish I can see from what part of the world my "hits" come. Apparently someone from California googled "men oof honor" (instead of men of honor?). Google suggested this post, and they gave my blog a hit. I think that's pretty funny.

An update - the good; the bad; and the worried, disheartened me.

Months ago, I posted here an editorial that I submitted to the Wheaton Record about the tragedy of abortion in America and the need for a pro-life presence on campus. I closed the article with these words of George Grant, "The pro-life movement and the Christian faith are synonymous. Where there is one, there will be the other - for one cannot be had without the other."

I was both eager to see my words in print and anxious, fearful that Wheaton's response would be mere apathy, or worse antagonism. I'm not sure how many Wheaton students read the article - it was printed the day before the three day Easter weekend. I didn't hear any feedback from students, but I was moved almost to tears by the responses I got from a couple Wheaton graduates. One woman said the article had prompted her and her husband to "seek the Lord's wisdom on how we can become more involved." Another graduate said he had been looking for way to make a small donation to the pro-life cause for some time. When he read the article, he felt the Lord directing him to contribute to the Voice for Life club. He set up quarterly payments of $250 to be sent to Wheaton College Advancement and designated for the VFL club.

The year quickly came to a close and the club didn't have any activity after the Red Envelope Campaign. The donor told me to expect the first check just before the end of the school year, and I headed down to the Billy Graham Center where the Advancement Office is located to confirm its arrival and find an address for him so the club could mail a thank you note. This was the first of many trips down to the BGC, as the money didn't show up in the club's account. I eventually gave up on Advancement - they even ignored the donor's emails - and went to the accounting office. As of yesterday, the money is finally where it should be, or at least headed that way.

On Red Envelope Day, close to thirty people signed up for emails and information about the club. Twenty-four hours ago, I wrote to those people requesting their response if they wanted to be active members of the club. I have received 3 responses - one from a club officer, one from the Biology department secretary, and one from another girl. The club has 4 officers and maybe 2- 3 people willing to be active members. Wheaton clubs must have at least 8 members. I feel like I'm fighting the ubiquitous Wheaton Busyness more than antagonism or ignorance. And in my discouragement and naivete I think the latter two may be more desirable enemies. What can you say to a girl who is taking 18 hours and working 15 hours a week?

Money in the club account only increases the burden and responsibility I feel for the cause. Proposals for club budgets and requests for allocations of funds are due on Monday. I would love to see a speaker come to campus, so this morning I dreamed big and called the Life Training Institute to see how much it would cost to bring Scott Klusendorf to Wheaton College. Scott is one of the most winsome, effective speakers for the pro-life cause. His expertise is in training Christians to engage the culture and persuasively defend their pro-life views. He is gracious, compassionate, Gospel-centered, and indefatigable. But bringing him to Wheaton College would cost, at the very least, $1000. And spending $1000 for Scott to speak to the 50 people I might be able to round up would be bad stewardship. His secretary easily persuaded me that it would definitely be best if Scott Klusendorf spoke in chapel. So this afternoon I visited Chappy K. In short, I left there very discouraged. Chappy K is an enigma. He is neither antagonistic, nor encouraging. He is impossible to read. And it doesn't help my case that the chapel schedule is full, and the chaplain's office can't pay that much to bring a speaker in any case. Chapel speakers speak at Wheaton College because they want to, pretty much.

Responsible people would either be sleeping or working on their natural disasters report, but instead I am fretting and blogging way more than anyone wants to read. Friday is the club fair to recruit new freshmen. I have no idea what I will do for a display, no idea who will man the table while I am in class, and no idea what the club can hope to accomplish this year. And I know that I too am falling prey to Wheaton Busyness.

I am going to bed preaching the gospel to myself and trying to remember that neither my identity nor my worth is wrapped up in what I am able to accomplish, no matter how worthy the cause.

Half an hour later, and I'm in desperate need of a cup of tea, and a hug wouldn't hurt.

Somehow last week I had the audacity to submit an application for a position at the Wheaton College Writing Center. I battled intensely inwardly about it. How can I, one who cannot write without blood, sweat, toil, and tears, presume to have the ability to help someone else write? And then a little bit of me would say, "But I've helped people write before. And some people think I write well." I felt like the character in the Great Divorce who has the little red devil on his shoulder, whispering lies to him. The trouble was, I wasn't sure which thoughts were the lie and which were truth. In fact, I'm still not sure.

I submitted the application Thursday morning and signed up on the professor's door for an interview. Only it was the wrong professor's door. Not an auspicious start. So then I signed up for an interview for Tuesday. And then when I came for my interview today, I found my name scratched out, and another in its place. I waited in the English department, and Dr. Davis saw me an hour later.


"What's a comma splice?"
. . . prolonged silence, a few starts and stops from me . . .
"I honestly can't remember what that term refers to, but I think if I saw the error I would recognize it as an error."
"Are you sure? I'm not so sure."

"Define an appositive." "Are you sure?"

"What's a gerund." "Give me an example in a sentence." "Are you sure?" (my model sentence: I like skiing. Brilliant. I've never even been downhill skiing.)

"How would you rate your knowledge of grammar on a scale of 1-10?" "Are you sure?"

I haven't studied grammar in four years. This was not appositive experience.

Dr. Davis says there is one more position, and two or three other applicants. I think it'll take a miracle. But at least I know what a comma splice is now.

It's in the freckles.

My youngest nephew's hair is turning a reddish, strawberry blond color, though I doubt it will ever rival his cousin's red locks. This has caused some musings on my part. Upon close inspection, I have found twelve pale freckles on my right shoulder and eight on my left. I wonder if I could ever have red-haired offspring.

Miranda Amelia Miner

David and Jodie are the proud parents of a beautiful, little girl. Miranda was born this morning, September 7, 2009. She is 6 pounds, 9 ounces, and 18 inches long. Mother and daughter are healthy and more than a little hungry, Jodie reports.

My new niece is beautiful, and I can hardly wait to hold her this October!

Never again.

I just listened to a movement from a Haydn symphony from a CD I got from some friends this summer. The first few measures were horrifyingly familiar. Two years ago, I listened to them (and attempted to transcribe them) for a dictation assignment for aural skills class. Oh, how glad I am that that class is over!

Home Improvement

My apartment doesn't feel homey to me yet, but at least it doesn't look like this anymore:


This semester there will be three of us living here. In truth, it was a huge relief not to be getting a new girl. In all probability, someone will be joining us in January.