레이블이 Orange California Colleges인 게시물을 표시합니다. 모든 게시물 표시
레이블이 Orange California Colleges인 게시물을 표시합니다. 모든 게시물 표시

2013년 11월 24일 일요일

About 'universities in orange county california'|...Supreme Court, which declined to hear it. So at this point, it's not a precedent in California, though it can be used for its persuasive value in court, should the issue come to...







About 'universities in orange county california'|...Supreme Court, which declined to hear it. So at this point, it's not a precedent in California, though it can be used for its persuasive value in court, should the issue come to...








I               wasn't               a               particularly               happy               undergraduate               philosophy               student               -               at               least               while               attending               a               year-and-a-half's               worth               of               the               classes               in               what               turned               out               to               be               my               major               and               ultimate               B.A.

degree               program               way               up               north,               more               than               a               decade               ago.

There               were               no               igloos,               as               it               turned               out               -               but               it               was               still               further               north               than               much               of               our               nation's               Canadian-U.S.

borders.
               I               tried               to               return               to               music               -               I               did.

But               the               University               of               Maine's               main               state               campus               in               Orono               (10               miles               north               of               Bangor               -               pronounced               "bang-gore"               by               the               locals,               who               included               Stephen               King               and               his               novelist               wife,               Tabitha,               also               two               of               UMO's               long-ago               graduates)               wouldn't               accept               me               there               unless               I               revoked               my               utterly               valid               associates'               degree               in               music               education               (music               theory               principal),               and               started               out               all               over               again               as               a               freshman(!)               -               an               A.A.

degree               I'd               long-since               received               earlier               in               life,               but               UMO               refused               to               accept.
               Why?

I               was               actually               told               this:               Because               really               big               Broward               Community               College               in               greater               (never               mind               pretty               damned               large               itself)               Fort               Lauderdale,               Florida,               was               a               "southern               school"               (quote-unquote               -               UMO-ese               for               not               being               up               to               snuff),               BCC's               associate               of               arts               degrees               weren't               viewed               as               valid               in               north-central               Maine               -               where,               oh-by-the-way,               there's               conceivably               as               many               moose               as               there               are               people.
               (I               suspected               there               were               even               more               coon               cats               and               landlocked               salmon               in               that               region               than               there               were               people               back               then               -               just               to               mention               two               more               official               and               indigenous               Maine               state               animals,               along               with               the               moose,               to               be               found               in               those               parts.)
               Can               any               university               get               more               pompous               or               arrogant?

The               population               of               Broward               County,               where               BCC               still               flourishes               -               1.3               million               human               beings               -               roughly               equaled               the               entire               population               of               the               State               of               Maine               in               the               early               1990s.

For               me,               it               was               like               -               well,               kiss               my               ass,               UMO               music               program!

-               which,               alas,               is               later               what               I               came               to               feel               about               its               philosophy               program.
               
               Stephen               King               has               nothing               to               do               with               this               tale,               by               the               way               -               even               though               I               resided               in               an               apartment               a               block               and               a               half               away               from               his               multi-storied               Bangor               home               (the               one               with               the               steel               spiders               and               such               on               his               family's               front               fence,               and               whose               gate               was               mostly               open               much               of               the               time               back               then               -               before               a               fake               bomb,               anyway,               was               dumped               on               the               family's               front               doorstep               and               had               to               be               dismantled).
               My               ex-wife,               who               attended               nearby               Bangor               Theological               Seminary               at               the               time,               and               I               used               to               walk               by               the               Kings'               family               residence               during               our               two               autumns               there,               as               we               scooped               up               and               mailed               off               some               of               the               Kings'               fallen               tree               leaves               back               to               friends               in               South               Florida,               which               immediately               went               into               keepsake               folders               sometimes               labeled,               "Stephen               King's               leaves."
               How               cool               was               that?
               In               any               event               -               a               little               background               history               is               in               order               here               -               before               I               get               around               to               explaining               why               I               do               what               I               do               (when               scribing               these               essays/speculations/critiques)               and               what               I               hope               to               accomplish,               somewhere               down               the               road,               by               having               done               so.
               
               *               *               *               *               *
               Back               in               the               late               1970s/very               early               1980s,               I               was               a               featured               columnist               for               a               now               long-since               defunct               Scripps-Howard               daily               newspaper               in               Hollywood,               Florida               -               which               landed               in               third-place               when               it               came               to               readership               numbers,               well               behind               both               The               Miami               Herald               and               The               Fort               Lauderdale               News/Sun-Sentinel               (now               South               Florida               Sun-Sentinel).
               My               columns               ran               three               or               four               times               a               week               on               the               front               page               of               The               Hollywood               Sun-Tattler,               and               my               physically               bloated               image               even               appeared               on               newsstands               along               my               favorite               beaches.

This               was               the               newspaper               best               known               for               breaking               the               Adam               Walsh               kidnapping               stories,               I               should               add,               which               took               place               during               my               final               year               at               the               paper.

I               even               wrote               a               forgettable               column               or               two               about               what,               some               months               later,               proved               to               be               the               absolutely               worst               possible               (and               truly               horrifying,               never               mind               heartbreaking)               end               result:               the               discovery               of               the               8-year-old's               dead               body.
               But               I               was               personally               miserable               during               this               time,               and               I               had               no               idea               why.

I               was               lost,               lonely,               self-destructive               in               a               mindless               way,               and               drinking               way,               way               too               much               -               and               that               led               me               into               a               month's               worth               of               rehab               followed               thereafter               by               10               solid               and               true               (and               psychologically               deeply               introspective)               years               in               various               12               step,               adult               children               and               co-dependency               programs,               which               became               prominent               and               influential               in               the               1980s.

I               came               to               emphatically               embrace               the               12               steps               themselves,               from               which               I               was               first               introduced               to               -               and               doggedly               absorbed               by               -               spiritual               growth               (albeit               a               rigorously               non-religious               spiritual               growth,               which               it               remains               to               this               day).
               Then,               after               several               far               happier               years               (which               were               highlighted               by               being               a               summer               day               camp               counselor               in               Hollywood),               the               New               Age               landed               in               South               Florida,               as               well               as               throughout               the               rest               of               the               country               -               and               so               I               jumped               right               into               it,               feet               first.

Only               I               never               bought               into               its               tenets               full-bore.

I               just               wanted               to               write               about               the               movement's               peculiar               and               mostly               innocent               doings               and,               you               know,               get               well               paid               for               having               done               so.
               That,               of               course,               never               happened.
               The               New               Age               not               only               died               within               five               years               (as               a               social               movement,               such               as               it               was,               in               the               end               it               had               nothing               to               blame               but               itself)               -               prompting               my               return               to               my               undergraduate               education               in               Maine.

The               New               Age               ended               up               on               the               butt               end               of               virtually               every               written               and               televised               story               in               mainstream               journalism,               the               ever-increasingly               fundamentalistic               Christianities               (a               movement               itself               rarely               widely               covered               at               that               time,               either)               -               and               in               all,               but               all,               of               America's               secular               universities,               whose               faculties               could               never               be               bothered               to               acknowledge               the               briefly               vital               movement,               and               its               casually               cast-aside               (and               mostly               well-meaning)               participants.
               
               So,               as               I               say               -               I               returned               to               college               as               a               philosophy               major               (I               had               a               lifelong               interest               in               one               of               formal               philosophy's               subset               "disciplines,"               metaphysics,               and               beneath               that,               straight-faced               ontology               (the               nature               of               consciousness               in               relation               to               greater               reality).

But               what               I               encountered               acutely               stunned               and               very               quickly               thereafter               sickened               me:
               Some               of               the               more               visible               New               Age               speakers               made               much               more               sense               to               me,               and               sounded               a               whole               lot               more               convincing               (based               on               a               lot               of               my               pronounced               spiritual               experiences),               than               what               I               was               reading               -               book               after               book,               article               after               article               -               in               formal               secular               philosophy               -               with               its               emphasis               on               "secular,"               which               for               me               remains               formal               philosophy's               greatest               bias,               and               most               severe               and               yet-undiagnosed               failing.
               
               Not               only               that               -               but               I               attended               a               free               one-evening               quantum               physics               seminar               conducted               by               UMO's               (otherwise               pretty               conservative)               physics               department,               which               not               only               unintentionally               possibly               supported               countless               New               Age               suspicions               about               the               nature               of               reality               -               but,               as               I               was               dismayed               to               discover,               I               was               the               only               attendee               there               from               UMO's               philosophy               program               -               be               they               students,               or               faculty               members.
               How               on               earth               could               philosophy               embrace               heavily               intellectualized               existentialism,               for               example,               but               still               blow               off               major               discoveries               in               quantum               physics               (which,               as               it               turned               out,               was               not               limited               to               UMO's               fairly               representative               campus)?

So               I               began               to               rebel               in               several               of               my               philosophy               classes.

If               my               professors               were               insisting               on               erudition               -               citing               source               material               in               support               of               our               theses               -               then               I               would               bloody               well               give               it               to               them.

I               quoted               Jane               Roberts'               "Seth"               and               Jach               Pursel's               "Lazaris"               -               easily               my               two               favorite               trance               channeled               "entities"               out               of               the               New               Age               movement               -               to               support               my               arguments,               which               were               only               intended               to               be               theoretical               in               nature,               in               the               first               place.

We're               talking               philosophy               here,               after               all               -               not               empirical               science.
               I               figured               the               truth               was               the               truth.

It               didn't               matter               who               spoke               it               -               hell,               it               just               might               pop               out               of               the               mouth               of               some               ax               murderer…               (Well?

It               could               happen.)
               Who               cared               if               anyone               in               heavily               biased               and               ignorant               secular               education               agreed               with               me               or               not,               anyway,               I               decided?

Spirituality               was               off-limits               in               formal               philosophy.
               I               did               this,               in               part,               too,               because               I               was               pretty               sure               none               of               my               professors               would               know               the               first               thing               about               such               sources,               because               they'd               uniformly               ignored               them               -               and               there               was               very               little               widespread               source               material               as               yet               on               the               Internet               of               that               era.

I               was               just               playing               their               "game,"               too               -               so               they               just               couldn't               up               and               fail               me.
               My               grades               sucked               -               surprise,               surprise               -               but               they               were               good               enough               to               pass.
               But               by               the               time               I               got               my               degree               in               May,               1992,               neither               I               nor               UMO's               philosophy               department               faculty               wanted               anything               more               to               do               with               one               another.
               
               That               I               spent               my               next               year               attending               seminary               classes               part-time               at               the               planet's               only               Quaker               seminary               -               just               to               see               if               their               efforts               at               "centering               down"               to               receive               God's               purported               guidances               actually               demonstrated               substance               (for               me,               they               didn't)               -               proved               to               be               more               of               the               same               for               me,               experientially.

Predictably,               none               of               that               seminary's               faculty               knew               doodle               squat               about               contemporary               trance               channelers               or               psychics,               either.

Forget               about               alien               abductions.

LOL.
               I               was               not               only               not               allowed               back               there               for               another               semester,               but               one               of               my               faculty               references               actually               wrote               a               scathing               "letter               of               support"               to               a               theological               school               out               in               California,               which               immediately               turned               down               my               application.

Later,               he               suggested               to               me               (however               wimpishly)               that               he               was               sparing               Christianity               from               a               serial               heathen.
               
               Thereafter,               I               decided               to               hell               with               formal               education               when               it               came               to               metaphysics               -               I               was               going               to               go               out               to               grad               school               in               creative               writing/screenwriting               in               Orange,               California               (which               I               did               the               next               year),               where               I               wrote               my               first-ever               philosophically               oriented               screenplay               (dreadful               though               it               was),               "Planet               of               Drunks."               But               by               then,               no               one               seemed               to               have               a               clue               about               what               I               was               attempting               to               put               forth               in               my               work,               or               why               -               nor               was               I               up               to               explaining               it               when,               I               then               quickly               realized,               offered               any               of               those               rare               opportunities               to               actually               do               that.

I               hadn't               yet               put               much               of               it               all               together.
               Anyway:               there               remains               no               defense               in               secular               (or               religious)               education               for               reading               the               likes               of               a               Jane               Roberts               -               never               mind               citing               her               as               erudition.
               
               Forward               to               this               year,               2006.

The               New               Age               appears               to               have               arrived               -               only               it's               dressed               in               somewhat               different               clothing               than               most               individuals               expected               -               except               maybe               for               the               likes               of               "Lazaris,"               to               cite               one               New               Age               carryover,               who               had               this               to               say               in               the               late               1980s               -               which               (and               I'll               paraphrase               the               quote)               made               no               sense               to               anyone               at               the               time,               including               me:
               "The               problem               is               not               that               your               world               is               coming               to               an               end.

The               (real)               problem               is               that               it               isn't,"               I               recall               Jach               Pursel's               "entity"               (more               or               less)               stating               back               then.

"And               (so),"               Lazaris               concluded,               "you're               going               to               end               up               being               left               with               all               these               major               problems               that               you're               finally               going               to               have               to               deal               with."
               That               insight               made               little               sense               then               -               but               it               does               now,               and               it               still               packs               a               wallop.
               To               this               day,               that               quote               alone               trumps               almost               every               quote               I               heard               come               out               of               the               mouths               of               history's               better-known               existentialists               -               many               of               whom,               I               thought,               likely               drank               too               damned               much               when               they               were               writing.

(Alcohol               was               the               existentialists'               primary               source               of               erudition,               as               near               as               I               could               tell.)
               For               those               who               embrace               The               Rapture               -               there's               going               to               be               hell               to               pay,               figuratively               and               literally,               by               the               way,               if               IT               doesn't               come               off               as               Scripturally               "predicted,"               as               well.


               Where               will               the               guiding               quotations               come               from               then?
               There               are               few               if               any               consistent               answers               out               there               to               be               gleaned               at               present.

And               it               is               that               which               drives               my               writing               efforts.

It's               time               to               begin               formulating               some.
               We               need               to               talk               -               all               of               us               who               are               the               least               bit               inclined               to               do               it.

And               really               soon.
               
               When               I               wrote               about               speculative               and               critique               topics               this               year,               I               was               representing               no               one's               (uniform)               viewpoint               but               my               own.

Honestly,               I'd               be               tickled               at               this               stage               if               any               reader               would               simply               post               what               they               really               feel               about               this               (but               haven't               as               yet               expressed):               as               in,               "Brickner,               you're               full               of               crap               -               and               here's               why."               Dot-dot-dot.
               But               no               one's               done               that               to               date,               and               I               find               it               a               little               scary               -               for               I'm               beginning               to               believe               I               really               might               end               up               like               M.

Night               Shyamalan's               philosopher               character               in               his               latest               movie,               "Lady               in               the               Water."               In               that               storyline,               this               gentle               character               has               written               an               epistle               he               calls               "The               Cookbook"               -               which               is               predicted               (by               the               film's               title               character)               to               inspire               one               key               future               leader               down               the               road               who,               as               an               orator               later               in               his               adult               life,               inspires               long-overdue               overhauls               in               society,               largely               as               a               result               of               having               read               "The               Cookbook"               when               he               was               a               boy.

Thing               is,               though:               Shyamalan's               character               ends               up               getting               murdered               first               before               his               published               but               little-read               critiques               are               ever               taken               seriously               -               or,               for               that               matter,               he               even               gets               to               meet               the               Midwestern               future               orator               he               will               one               day               so               powerfully               influence.
               He               was               murdered               solely               because               he               wrote               the               published               book               that               he               did.

It               had               made               a               lot               of               people               uncomfortable               and               angry,               as               it               was               explained               in               the               movie.
               Yes,               of               course               -               this               was               a               work               of               fiction.

I               get               that.
               But               call               me               grandiose               and               heavily               deluded               -               I               stepped               out               of               the               theater               shaken,               I               had               identified               so               strongly               with               that               character.
               My               life               has               been               difficult               and               unfulfilling               enough               without               having               to               get               whacked               because               of               my               viewpoints.

I               also               believed               it               would               all               come               to               a               happy               ending.
               Now               I'm               not               so               sure.
               
               *               *               *               *               *
               Sometime               during               the               mid-to-late               1990s               I'd               decided               that               the               road               I               had               chosen               to               walk               down               in               this               life               -               pushing               these               actions               as               my               agenda,               whether               they're               well               received,               understood,               or               not               -               was               what               I               was               going               to               do.
               I               strongly               believed               at               the               time               that               I               was               up               to               it.

Now               I               only               desperately               hope               that               I               am.

Not               so               cocky,               am               I,               at               this               fading               stage               of               my               life.
               Regardless,               I               no               longer               appear               to               even               have               much               of               a               choice.

With               a               splintered               employment               record               and               a               predictable               separation               from               far               too               many               friends               and               loved               ones               out               of               my               past               due               to               differences               in               our               world               views               (and               who               mostly               remain               clueless               as               to               what               continues               to               drive               me               in               this               non-paying               avocation),               I'm               vulnerable               to               becoming               the               type               of               individual               who,               likely               not               coincidentally,               approached               me               very               recently               -               goodness               knows               why               -               while               I               was               quietly               eating               a               Whopper               Junior               at               a               local               Burger               King               one               afternoon               after               work.
               I               myself               couldn't               afford               a               regular               Whopper               at               the               time,               as               I               was               awaiting               payday,               like               so               many               millions               of               my               peer               Americans               are               forced               to               do               nowadays.

Call               us               the               Whopper               Junior               Society.

Or               better,               the               Expendable               Whopper               Junior               Society.
               "Excuse               me               sir               -               but               how               far               away               is               the               Alabama               line               from               here?"               the               woman,               who               told               me               her               name               was               Kathy,               asked               me.

When               I               told               her               Alabama               -               and               specifically,               greater               Mobile               -               was               a               pretty               long               drive               away,               she               quickly               added,               "Well,               I               have               nowhere               to               live,               I'm               real               low               on               money,               and               I               thought               heading               west               might               maybe               be               the               best               thing               for               me               to               do."               She               said               she'd               gotten               off               the               road               to               Tallahassee               from               Gainesville,               where               a               local               church               -               whose               members               had               come               to               see               their               preachings               were               falling               on               deaf               and               potentially               homeless               ears               -               cut               her               "free"               from               all               further               support               …               or               so               Kathy               claimed               had               happened.

Still,               her               fear               and               bitterness               and               seemed               genuine               and               substantive.
               I               immediately               felt               deep               empathy               for               her.

It               took               me               no               time               to               tell               her,               "You               don't               want               to               head               west               from               here,               particularly               toward               the               Gulf               coast.

They               still               haven't               gotten               back               on               their               feet               from               Hurricane               Katrina,               and               you'll               get               no               help               there."
               "Well,               then               -               can               you               recommend               where               else               I               might               go?"               Kathy               asked,               seating               herself               at               a               booth               next               to               me               after               introducing               herself               and               shaking               hands.
               
               There's               no               need               to               go               into               further               detail               about               my               chat               with               Kathy               (I               was               in               no               position               to               put               her               up,               by               the               way,               as               I               was               myself               renting               a               room               in               someone's               home)               -               other               than               to               realize               like               so               many               of               America's               homeless,               there               was               just               no               place               left               for               Kathy               to               go,               because               they               have               no               one               in               their               lives               who'll               place               a               roof               over               the               heads               long               enough               for               them               to               get               back               on               their               feet               -               which,               besides,               is               simply               not               easily               accomplished               any               more,               anyway.

The               cost               of               living,               the               simple               cost               of               breathing               air,               has               very               nearly               become               prohibitive               in               the               U.S.

now               for               what               I'm               guessing               is               as               much               as               a               third               of               the               population.

Maybe               more.
               I               certainly               run               into               enough               of               such               individuals               at               the               retail               store               where               I               work.
               When               she               first               approached               me,               I               ought               to               note,               I               was               thinking               about               my               writings,               and               how               they               were               going               (they               didn't               appear               to               be               accomplishing               nearly               as               much               as               I'd               hoped)               -               but               at               least               my               survival               wasn't               being               threatened               as               Kathy's               was.
               Fact               was               -               I               was               getting               by               pretty               damned               well               compared               to               her.
               After               chatting               for               a               half               hour               -               I               have               no               idea               if               my               suggestions               were               any               good,               much               less               if               they               were               followed               -               we               parted               ways.

The               last               I               saw               of               her,               she               was               headed               toward               the               women's               restroom.

She               sincerely               thanked               me               first               for               taking               the               time               to               listen,               though,               and               to               exchange               game               plan               ideas               with               her.
               Me,               I               got               on               the               expressway,               headed               back               toward               where               I'm               now               gratefully               living               -               and               I               began               to               cry.
               
               Even               though               my               intellect               doesn't               believe               God               ever               intervenes,               I               prayed               while               I               was               driving,               asking               that               maybe               He'd               make               an               exception               this               one               time               on               Kathy's               behalf.
               But               I               doubted               very               strongly               that               He               would.

I               was               both               aching               and               terrified               for               her.
               All               of               this               hit               way               too               close               to               home               for               me,               too               -               no               pun               intended.
               
               Anyway…               Back               to               this               determined               avocation               business               of               mine:
               I               can               see               when               I               "run               Googles"               (and               other               search               engines)               under               my               full               and               published               name,               that               there               appear               to               a               substantial               number               of               people               out               there               who               want               to               know               who-the-hell               I               am.

I               have               no               idea               who               these               readers               are               -               but               there's               at               least               a               bare               minimum               of               a               thousand               of               them               to               date               this               year               so               far,               based               on               my               math               applied               to               presentation               upgrades               at               two               or               more               sites               where               my               essays               run.

Regardless,               only               a               mere               handful               have               yet               have               provided               me               with               any               clear               feedback,               although               what               I've               heard               has               been               fairly               complimentary.

Still,               I'm               left               feeling               suspicious.

There's               been               very               little               "glow"               in               any               of               the               responses.
               
               *               *               *               *               *
               Close               to               closing,               this:               there               is               no               handbook               to               guide               my               writings,               and               so               I               wing               it,               almost               entirely               by               instinct,               every               time               I               strive               to               get               published.

Thus,               I've               made               a               lot               of               calculation               mistakes               -               as               in               realizing               too               late               that               most               readers               will               read               from               the               most               recent               essay               first,               then               backwards               toward               the               oldest               -               when               the               better               order               with               which               to               get               a               better               handle               on               my               often               stumblebum               effort               would               probably               be               reading               the               "oldies"               first.
               And               there's               been               other               mistakes               -               as               in               repeating               explanations               and               such,               which               I've               even               committed               in               this               article.

The               assumption,               again,               has               been               that               each               new               article               is               likely               to               be               read               by               readers               unacquainted               with               my               previous               essays               …               a               journalistically-taught               action               that               might               not               prove               correct               in               this               instance.
               I               try               to               adjust               as               the               months               sail               by,               in               any               event.
               In               a               rare               (and               highly               valued)               chat               with               a               co-worker               last               night               over               my               writing               -               which               he               certainly               appears               unexpectedly               and               flatteringly               to               have               read               a               lot               of               -               I               came               away               with               this:               no               one               seems               to               fully               understand               what               I'm               writing,               or               why               I               bother               to               writing               it.

And               I               sense               a               consistent               discomfort               from               their               end               in               even               talking               about               it.
               Ultimately,               I               want               to               induce/inspire               philosophical               discourse,               and               lure               it               out               of               the               universities,               where               none               of               its               proponents               ever,               ever,               ever               have               to               answer               to               the               outside               world               (you               know,               the               one               that               appears               headed               down               the               spillway)               -               or               as               to               why               classical               philosophy               has               been               so               impotent               and               ignored               outside               of               college.
               One               doesn't               have               to               agree               with               these               expressed               ideas               -               and               I               know               better               than               to               even               hope               for               such               an               outcome.
               It               would               just               be               terrific               if               a               few               more               readers               would               simply               step               out               of               the               silence,               though,               and               respond.
               
               And,               listen               -               getting               good               and               pissed,               works               for               me.
               When               I'm               just               plain               incorrect               -               please               illuminate               me.

Please.
               This               late               middle-aged               man               would               very               nearly               be               thrilled.
               #               #               #
               Donald               Croft               Brickner               may               be               reached               for               questions,               comments               and               reactions               at:               dcroftbrickner@aol.com.






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