Welcome Me!

I would like to take a moment to welcome the newest member of the Word blog: Me! Who am I, you ask? Well, since I know me better than anyone else, I am completely prepared to fill you in.

My name is Dustin Lindsey (which amazingly means "Brave Warrior," yeah, that's right). I am originally from the great city, state of Moline, Illinois located in the northwest corner of the Land of Lincoln. Now, I reluctantly reside in Saint Louis, Missouri while attending Gateway College of Evangelism. Thank God, the end is in sight as I am a few weeks into my second semester of my Senior year. Praises.

So why am I now a part of the Word blog? Well, I can only attribute this honor to my random, enjoyable chats on the comfy red couch of Sis. Alexander's (Lee Ann, as you know her) office. While sinking into the deep cushions of her wonderful furniture utopia, I have expounded upon the many novels and classics I have enjoyed, the fantastic ideas of books that I will, most assuredly, write, the memories of English classes i have endured, and the countless (or not so countless) articles I have actually managed to finish. She, on the other hand, sits at her desk, rarely looking my direction, presumably grading papers. I think she finally had enough of these meetings and saw a golden opportunity. There was a vacancy to be filled, and who better to fill it than someone who has no problem talking to himself about literature (or any other subject for that matter)? The way I see it is that I am just experiencing a transfer of my pseudo-audience. My conversations with myself will now be endured while sitting at a computer desk, fingers a-blur instead of relaxing on a red couch, lips flapping. Ah, well...'tis life.

Moving on to something literature-ishy.

I was supposed to be born approximately 45 years before I actually was. Yes, that's right--and that's even factoring being born prematurely. I love life as it used to be. Old clothes, old styles, old ways of life and old literature. I think I probably have a unique definition of "old literature" and that is: Charles Dickens is my favorite author. It saddens me to hear to fellow peers who spend their days "studying" the Bible (more often than not, in the KJV) complain about how they cannot understand the language of classical literature. Seriously?

If I have any sort of literature soapbox (which I'm sure as I blog I will discover that I actually have many...) it is the apathy towards classic literature among my generation. Without using vulgar, yet necessary, language I will attempt to reason with the apathetics in the following hypothetical conversation:

Me: So, what is your favorite book?
Some Random Contemporary of Mine: Uhhh, I don't really read that much...
Me: But you must have a favorite book--even one from childhood, possibly?
SRCoM: Uhhh, I don't understand the question...
Me: Seriously, you imbecile? Mine is A Tale of Two Cities, I just love getting lost in the classical language that Charles Dickens uses (said while looking whimsically into the distance)...I also love G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday, and...HEY! Where are you going?...
SRCoM: (wanders off in a stupor that only hours in front of a monitor can achieve, hungry for a video game, a cupcake, and a dimly lit room)

Literature, when written, is not only a gift to that generation, but it is to be treasured until the last word of the last page of the last copy is scratched out--and even then, it lives on in the stories that are passed down from mother to children, from pastor to congregation, from teacher to student, and from generation to generation. If only that were the case, instead, I fear that our children's ears will only be familiar with what the "Big Box on the Shelf" screams at them.

Tragedy. True tragedy.

I guess I'm done. I've run out of words and gotten myself all flustered.