Yesterday the grades from our philosophy test came back. I got an 86, not bad but also not what I wanted. There were not any comments on any of the papers except on the front where "chart" was written.
A week before the test, the instructor told us what we needed to know for the test. He included the fact that we need to know and be able to reproduce one of the charts in the book. The day of the test, he put the essay questions on the board without anything about the chart; nearly everyone wrote out their essay. Only two people drew the chart out on the paper.
I assumed that, since it was an essay, I would write out the information on the chart to explain it. Apparently, the instructor wanted a drawing of the actual chart; he took away 7 points, which would have given me a comfortable "A".
It amazed me and several other classmates that we had our A's taken away from us because we didn't have clear instructions to draw the chart.
And I still don't know where the other 7 points went.
We got a new guy in the dorm over the weekend that Biscuit has been trying to bring on the shower crew for a while. On his own, Biscuit is already a little bit crazy, but with the new guy, Knox, around, he's even crazier. They constantly wrestle with each other, rather loudly at that.
Knox is apparently the King of "Kill Shots", pictures of nearly nude women that are used to "kill" on. I don't mess with the shots at all, but, boy, do Biscuit and Knox. Knox has a full photo album of them and Biscuit is gathering more.
Last night when we went to work both of them brought kill shots with them to trade with guys in the dorms they cleaned. Each trade was made for an apparent profit as both sides got rid of a girl they don't want anymore and received a new prize in exchange. It reminded me of Pokemon or baseball cards that used to be traded during recess in middle school.
"This girl has it going on here, but I can't use her because of this."
"Nice face, but the rest doesn't work for me at all."
Of course, I'm using much less graphic paraphrase. Even after we returned to the dorm, Biscuit and Knox argued over the strengths of their collection against the weaknesses of the other. Four hours later in mid-morning they were still arguing their tastes in kill shots while I just shook my head in pity, rolled over and went to sleep.
(Note: The following four blog entries were journal entries actually written 9/8-9/11/08. The first entry was originally written on 9/08/08. The blog "editor" lost them in her desk and just now found them. Oops! Better late than never?)"Right is right. It defines itself."
"Religion kills people and is just a control mechanism. That's why I don't like religion."
"Everything is energy; you, me, the table, our souls. Anything can become anything else and probably will at some point."
These statements come from the professor of the philosophy class I'm taking. All on our first day, too. The man at the front of the room is an aged vet with a doctorate that he says gives him the right to call himself intelligent and the class dumb.With a grin.
"I'm going to teach you how to think," he said after we all settled into our seats, as if none of us had ever done any real thinking before.
The college level philosophy class I took before prison was one of my favorites. As a "team-taught" class, I heard the perspectives from philosophy, science, and mathematics all at once. And fortunately, none of those professors had the intellectual ego to blow out the hot air steaming up the classroom here.
I'm excited to be in this class. I love to learn, regardless of how I get the information. Losing debates with this professor ought to be fun. He'll do his mental victory dance after quashing the argument of a college sophomore.
(Note: this entry was originally written on 9/11/08)
Yesterday in Philosophy class the professor was talking about how religion and philosophy differ and he was really groping for the right buttons to push before someone spoke out against him. Though I haven't had good intellectual debate in a while, I gave it a go.
The professor had said all religion is bad because it relies on a foundation that may not and probably does not exist. I asked him, "If you don't find religion compelling enough to believe in, where do you find purpose in your life? Why keep living?"
"I find purpose in gaining knowledge, power, and sharing knowledge with others," he replied.
"If you're lucky you'll live 100 years. Then why will any of that matter when you are dead and have long become worm food?"
"It helps my kids and their kids and so on."
"So, you're just gone with your last hope before you die that your descendants will be better off with your instruction?"
"Yeah, and therefore improve the world."
We had several other exchanges on the problem of evil, energy, and the soul, and other topics. A guy later got confused in the lecture and remarked,"I'm lost."
The professor said, "Talk to him (meaning me.) He'll tell you about Jesus."
At the end of class I stayed behind to tell the professor that I deeply respected him and really looked forward to the remainder of the session. He gave me a look like he wasn't looking forward to the having the outspoken young squirt in standing front of him in his class.
(Note: This entry was originally written on 9/10/08.)
Man, I've got to get out of here. Every now and then I have days where the longing for the familiarity of friends and home is overwhelming. I feel like the kid that hid from Mom in the clothing rack while shopping and now can't seem to find even the hem of her dress to hold on to."Paging the real world. I am a lost boy without a way home."
Today the feeling began before I woke up. I had a dream about spending a normal day with C. and a couple of friends. We were doing all those things you take for granted when you are free: walking the campus, playing in the park, getting a bite to eat at that killer sandwich shop with the fashionably vegetarian offerings.
Waking up was a slap to the cerebrum - you are not free in your tiny white-walled existence shared with nine other men.
The feeling continued when a movie aired on TV that was a close replica of the relationship I shared with C. before I entered prison. Down to the quirks and dress of both the guy and girl characters, I was reminded of what is past.
I want to escape the colorless so I can be free to be me. I need my real peers, the one-maybe-two-steps-from-becoming-full-fledged-adult college crowd, to poke fun at my foibles and to motivate me to be more.
Around here I am treated as some kind of eccentric genius. I fit neither term.
(Note: This journal entry was originally written on 9/09/08.)
I came back to the dorm from school at 8 this evening and, to my surprise, the TV was turned off. Hallelujah! I wondered why and the guys said it was because satellite was being hooked up. Oh no!
There are already arguments over what show gets watched with the five channels we had. Imagine the flare-ups when we have more possibilities. I would rather they keep the old channels or take the TV out completely.
Too bad my wishes vanished into thin air around 9:30. A guy in civilian clothes came in to set up the new channels with a remote and was gone in a matter of seconds. Waiting for the TV to self-program, the guys sat around speculating on the great new channels and shows we would get.
The TV sparked to life and the speculation was over. We now have less channels than before, but more movies and football - the main argument starters. Oh boy.
So, here's a routine night as a worker on the shower crew:
Around 10:45, after the first unit roster count for the night, the shower crew boss of the night shows up at the dorm to pull the eight of us out. We share the same dorm, eating and doing most things together. Don't let me fool you, though; we only have just enough camaraderie to get the job done.
When we get outside the dorm and into the hallway, we split into teams of two. My usual partner is a guy from Killeen we call Tex. After getting our bucket of supplies - two scrub pads, state-made Comet, stainless steel shine, and a few towels - we set off to our pre-determined dorms of our choosing, kind of like the shotgun game. Whoever calls a dorm first, gets it.
Upon entering the dorm, we say our "wahzzup"'s and head to the the back to fill our buckets with hot water. Sometimes the water is a little too hot to mix, which gives us more time to talk with friends int the dorm.
After the water is mixed with the weak Comet, we get to scrubbing. Each dorm has four shower stalls made of stainless steel. We scrub every part that shines - or should shine - even the ceilings. Once the showers are scrubbed, we wipe them dry with a towel and follow up with the stainless steel cleaner on a rag. The stainless steel shine has a scent like diesel and is applied like Pine-Sol, wiped over every surface for a spotless shine.
It certainly is not the most glamorous job, cleaning the soap scum and man scum left from regular shower use and extracurriculars. Most nights we don't even get gloves. As long as we use those chemicals I'm not too concerned. I get clean when I get back to my dorm.
I just like moving around the unit and seeing guys I usually can't talk with. The extra cups of coffee aren't bad, either. There's even talk among the guards that we'll be getting an extra johnny sack after we finish each night.
Once 
we finish the dorms and have the showers inspected, the shower boss strip searches us and we return to our dorm. Each night we complete a whole wing of eight dorms - two for each duo and four showers apiece. Back at the dorm, I clean up then put together a meal with Tex and Ramirez. A prison pizza is a great cap to the night.
