Ic laþette Engliscgereorde

I hate Old English (is what my title says, I think).

What a horrible mistake this class was. "Introduction to Old English" sayeth the syllabus. It might as well say "Introduction to Shitting on your Morale." I feel stupid when I'm studying for it. I feel stupid when I'm sitting in the class. And I always feel incredibly stupid just after I leave. This is not to say that I think everyone in the class is doing better than me. I just feel like a total dunce for signing up for this course in the first place.

This is not really a literature course. The class involves learning the Old English language - which sounds like a forced mating between a drunken Irish accent and a German salute to Hitler. If you remember the Pikers from the movie Snatch, then you've probably got a pretty good idea of what it sounds like.

First of all, the book is a pain in the ass. Apparently it's the best Old English book on the market - which really says something about the rest of them. The author will spend ten pages explaining that there are irregular adjectives, but then he won't tell you what they are. He can go andslyht himself. (the Old English word for "blow" - which is the closest I can come to finding a word to suit my feeling on the matter)

The professor is even worse. In every legitimate way - he's a terrible teacher. But he's entertaining as hell, so I love the man. Someone in the class will ask a question like, "How do you conjugate "habban" in the past tense?" and he'll reply, "Well back when I worked at the circus making lollipops for midgets in the summer of '71, I used to recall poppyseeds blowing in the wind..." The story will continue like that in a similarly circuitous manner for another 15 minutes before he completely forgets why he was talking in the first place and moves on. One time last spring (this is actually the second time I've had him), he was in the middle of talking about something legitimate for once, when he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out three combs. He then spent about five minutes musing about the possible origin of the three combs. After all - two were understandable, but three!? It boggled the mind, it did.

I may not learn Old English, but I can see what happens to those who do. I think I'll just accept that if I ever encounter an Anglo-Saxon warrior who wants to battle me for my treasures, I'll be royally screwed whether I know Engliscgereorde or not.

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Old English - Proving to be completely useless since Beowulf sodomized Grendel in a manly fashion.