Suicide Is Still An Option
I'm stuck in a class I hate, and there's nothing I can do about it. If I drop it, I'll be bumped down to "part time" status as a student, and if I stay in the class, I'll most likely throttle the professor to death. He came to us as a sort of guest lecturer all the way from Kent State in Ohio. Kent State is such a progressive and forward-thinking university that they are already celebrating their hundredth anniversary. Which comes in 2010. (For those of you keeping score at home, it's still 2006.) Nice one.
Anyway, professor Boringstate teaches a class called "Media, Technology, and Writing," for which I eagerly signed up at the beginning of the semester because I thought it would be about writing for new media and technology. Not so, my friends. Turns out it's a class about the relationships between media, technology, and writing, and their effects on the human body and language. That, professor Sockswithsandals, makes no sense. You might as well call the class "Boners, Cotton Candy, and Largesse: A Boxing Promoter's Approach. Please remove my uvula, or I will be forced to veto seven," which makes just as much sense.
He tells us to read a chapter in our 14-year-old textbook and then come back next week with one page of our "thoughts." So, the next week, I came back with one page of my thoughts, as did everyone else in the class, and we were treated to an hour-long lecture about how we weren't writing our papers according to Stasis Theory. Surprise, professor Needstoshave, we didn't write papers at all. We wrote a page of our thoughts, exactly as we were instructed by our incompetent professor. I've been getting A's on papers since before this guy was born, approximately. I'm not going to change the way I go about writing a paper just to gain the approval of a man who deemed it necessary to explain to his class full of Colorado natives what rappelling was. Guess what, professor Fromaflatstate, we knew what rappelling was before you saw your first mountain, jackass.
The creepiest thing of all about this guy is the fact that he has no idea how long one is supposed to hold eye contact with another person. He moves his eyes around the room, staring directly at every student in the class for a full ten seconds before moving on. It's messed up. I feel like he's either trying to melt me with the glare from his glasses, or, much more likely, he's trying to seduce me. I wouldn't blame him, though. I'm a prime piece of man meat. I've got to fight the ladies off with a shovel. Most of my lady friends, despite my repeated entreaties to remain merely friends, have fallen deeply in love with me. It's probably my fault... Uh... What was I talking about?
Anyway, professor Boringstate teaches a class called "Media, Technology, and Writing," for which I eagerly signed up at the beginning of the semester because I thought it would be about writing for new media and technology. Not so, my friends. Turns out it's a class about the relationships between media, technology, and writing, and their effects on the human body and language. That, professor Sockswithsandals, makes no sense. You might as well call the class "Boners, Cotton Candy, and Largesse: A Boxing Promoter's Approach. Please remove my uvula, or I will be forced to veto seven," which makes just as much sense.
He tells us to read a chapter in our 14-year-old textbook and then come back next week with one page of our "thoughts." So, the next week, I came back with one page of my thoughts, as did everyone else in the class, and we were treated to an hour-long lecture about how we weren't writing our papers according to Stasis Theory. Surprise, professor Needstoshave, we didn't write papers at all. We wrote a page of our thoughts, exactly as we were instructed by our incompetent professor. I've been getting A's on papers since before this guy was born, approximately. I'm not going to change the way I go about writing a paper just to gain the approval of a man who deemed it necessary to explain to his class full of Colorado natives what rappelling was. Guess what, professor Fromaflatstate, we knew what rappelling was before you saw your first mountain, jackass.
The creepiest thing of all about this guy is the fact that he has no idea how long one is supposed to hold eye contact with another person. He moves his eyes around the room, staring directly at every student in the class for a full ten seconds before moving on. It's messed up. I feel like he's either trying to melt me with the glare from his glasses, or, much more likely, he's trying to seduce me. I wouldn't blame him, though. I'm a prime piece of man meat. I've got to fight the ladies off with a shovel. Most of my lady friends, despite my repeated entreaties to remain merely friends, have fallen deeply in love with me. It's probably my fault... Uh... What was I talking about?
posted by Vaughan at
12:18 PM
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