July 13, 2005

Old-School.

At a loss for what to blog about. Actually, I have ideas, just not the computer time available for me. I can't even find the time to write down this short story I've had in my head for a few weeks. Fuck living at home.

Anyway, here's a post from about two years ago. Going through old blogs, like going through old notebooks and diaries, can be both embarrassing and interesting at the same time.


In English class today, our in-class assignment was to re-write a paragraph from a scientific journal from bland, technical jargon into common-place, everyday speech.

The original paragraph (minus the citations):
Researchers have hypothesized that these children have fine-grained phonological discrimination problems, severe phonological awareness weaknesses, naming-speed deficits, cognitive or language limitations, or attention or behavior problems. Because research on this topic is new, the question remains, Are such characteristics important correlates of children's unresponsiveness to treatment?


Since I am an asshole and hate the class and the professor, I decided to write a rap.

Here it goes. Check it, dawgs.

Guys in white lab suits called scientists
They researched their very best
They put their problem to the test
And they explain said problem with this guess
Kids, usually deemed not too smart
Who never learned that reading's an art
They said maybe hearing plays a part
Even if they tried with all their heart
Maybe they couldn't pay attention too well
Always waiting for the recess bell
For them, a library is a prison cell
But those illiterate fools won't go to hell
It's not their fault that they hate books
And all their studying never took
Hearing and attention problems need a closer look
And that's the gist of it, if I'm not mistook.

Either fortunately or unfortunately, I was not called upon to read my exercise.




Sure, this was only a five-minute writing excercise, done in class without the help of a thesaurus or rhyming dictionary, but it still made me giggle. It makes me think of what kind of obnoxious rap I could write if I had more than five minutes.

Personally, I think that some Dylan Thomas, with the help of some bling-bling, would represent. Yo.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.