Today, I got my fourth paper back from the Foundation Year Program. This program, unique to King's, involves reading copious amounts of philosophical texts and writing a 1500 word essay every two weeks. The latter task means that many Sunday afternoons when I could be watching football are spent holed up on a big red comfy couch in my residence's common room, madly typing words that are supposed to have some sort of significance in relation to the Neo-Platonists or Enkidu's rise out of bestiality.
Anyways, I got a C. When I told my dad about it, he replied "C for consistent!", which shows me how far I've fallen since my high school days. The most jarring thing, however, is not that my marks are suddenly the epitome of mediocrity. It's not even the fact that I don't care that I'm consistently average; I gave up caring about my marks a long time ago. No, it's the fact that it's so thoroughly normal.
In this program, pretty much every letter grade is about one full letter below where it would be elsewhere. In other words, FYP Cs are like normal Bs, and FYP Bs are like normal As. Conversely, everyone is sucked into some kind of whirlpool where it is nearly impossible to fail. Ergo, the different amounts of effort required correspond to a very minute shift in one's grade. Not only that, but there's no guarantee your effort will correspond to a higher grade. The paper I tried the hardest on was the one I got the worst mark on.
Does this mean I'm proposing apathy? Saving yourself in order to further your own interests? Hardly. In fact, I've probably tried harder this year than any other year within my continuing education. But passion is a tricky thing to gauge. It just so happens that in my papers, it isn't quite showing up in the feedback. Passion just isn't always a universal good (contrary to what Plato might believe).
Take football, for instance. Whenever my Minnesota Vikings are on, I morph from a moderately agreeable person to a cussing, raving hooligan. Luckily for me, Brett Favre is in the shotgun this year, so I don't worry as much about bone-headed play. However, if the wholly unholy Tarvaris Jackson is dropping back in the pocket, I close my eyes. When he throws an interception, I begin to cuss and punch a pillow. I then go online and trash-talk Green Bay Packers fans for an hour before I cry myself to sleep. Is this passion? Undoubtedly. Is this good? Hardly. I might give myself a heart attack a few years too early.
Passion can ultimately manifest itself in a bunch of ways. A whole bunch of them are good. Some are definitely bad, though. Take my papers. I put a whole lot of heart in them. I try my best to talk up key points and shine them in a glorious light. At the same time, though, I can't help but ignore fundamental points of the work. In an Aligherian sense, I'm loving a good too much. I should probably be a bit more neutral. This passion is destroying my papers.
Oh well. At least I'm consistent.
Passion Defective
One thing I have lost my passion for, however, is The Amazing Race. The long-running reality show had been an integral part of my television viewing. However, this year, I just couldn't seem to muster up any form of passion for it. I mean, I didn't even know when this season was starting. Last night, I realized that there was a season going on right now. I flipped over to the website, and... no interest. This shocked me for many reasons. Not only was I not captivated by the show, but I wasn't captivated by the fact that one of the competing teams was made up of Harlem Globetrotters!
I started watching this show in Season 7. The next season, Season 8, is termed as the one where the show jumped the shark by involving families instead of pairs. Enh. I still kept watching, though, because I enjoy travel, intensity, and have a weakness for watching complete and spontaneous meltdowns on television. I was a true fanboy.
Now, though? It doesn't really hold much for me. If I want to see exotic locations, I can read the travel section of my newspaper. If I want intensity, I can just pile on more hockey. If I want meltdowns, all I need is to watch the news. Politicians do that quite regularly. Just look at Rep. Joe Wilson.
This year, The Amazing Race has become to me what it should have been long ago: a thoroughly scripted charade. Sorry, Phil, but even your raised eyebrows aren't enough to keep me watching. Nobler pursuits are the way to go.
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