Teach Like Jesus Would!

I came across a great billboard; it said, "TEACH LIKE JESUS WOULD!" in big bold letters. I have no idea why. There didn't appear to be any context. Just wisdom to think about I guess.

Well think I did.

It sounded good at first. Who wouldn't want to teach like Jesus? But then I thought about it some more. What would Jesus really be like as a real teacher? Sure, it's easy to put on some sandals and an old bedsheet and wander around the desert spouting Fortune-Cookie wisdom, but what would happen if Jesus had to teach English 101?

I don't know if he'd last very long. Think about it. As a teacher, Jesus was vague, wishy-washy, and had stiff penalties for not following the rules. First of all, he answered simple questions with bizarre metaphors.
"Jesus, how can we get to heaven?"
"Well my friend, let me tell you a story of a goat and a shepherd who found the golden gourd."
No student is going to understand something like that - too damn vague! And he can't make up his mind. Guy came down and changed all the rules that his dad set down in the Old Testament. You don't need that kind of mixed message from management.

And of course, if you don't follow Jesus's little lessons, you're going to hell. Talk about a bad discipline policy. Imagine how this guy would run a real class:
"Excuse me Mr. Christ; I know the paper was supposed to be 4 pages, but I only got 3 and a half pages."
"Sorry Timmy, but I'm afraid you're going to burn for all eternity in the pits of darkness."
"Mr. Christ, do I need a comma here?"
"Well Jeffy, let me tell you about the king whose sword could fell the giant who owned the golden rod!"
"Mr. Christ, why did I get an C on this paper?"
"Because you didn't dot your I's and cross your T's. And if there's one thing I know, it's crosses. Don't screw with me; I'm dying for your grades!"

No one should teach like Jesus. The sign is all wrong. Hell, if Jesus was a decent teacher, why didn't he stick around for the eventual grade disputes? I'm sure not everyone is entirely happy with his judgment. That son of a God has a lot to answer for.


The Undesirable Element - Going to hell since 1983.

It Sucks to Blow

If you're dumb enough to require instructions, you've probably drowned yourself in the toilet already

Nothing pisses me off more than going into a bathroom, washing my hands, and then discovering that the establishment only has an automatic hand dryer.

I hate hand blow-dryers. I know why they're there. Some penny-pinching restaurant-owners got together and thought, "Hey, if we didn't have to purchase paper towels, we might be able to afford those roach traps for the health inspector!"

And I don't buy that "Better for the environment" bullshit that they're advertising on their website. I don't know how much electricity those things use, but if that revving noise they make is any indication, it can't be good. If you check out their website, they give some (unsupported) statistics about paper towel use. And then in bold letters it says, "And, paper towels cannot be recycled!" Holy shit!! Someone call Captain Planet! How can paper towels not be recycled? That brown sandpaper shit in high schools is proudly made from recycled material.

But the best thing on their website: "Electric Warm Air Hand Drying from World Dryer can Save Money While You Show You Care!" Yeah, after I've walked through the dried urine and used toilet paper on the floor of my local gas station, that hand dryer just makes me think that Bubba at the counter really cares.

Hand dryers take forever and never really get your hands dry. You always end up with that soapy residue on your hands from the sub-standard soap that public places use. I guarantee that if the place won't spring for paper towels, they're not springing for good soap either.

Then there's the loudness. If you're in a relatively quiet establishment, everyone in the place will hear that sumbitch whir on. Then everyone will be staring at you when you come out thinking, "That guy just took a shit. And he had to use that crappy hand dryer so you know his hands might not be clean enough...."

The best establishments have a manually-operated paper towel dispenser that lets you take as many paper towels as you need. That shows class. I'll even take those electric paper towel dispensers. They're fun, and they scare the bejesus out of old people. That's a double-bagger!

Hand dryers blow.
Hand dryers suck.
Any way the air moves,
you're out of luck.


Automatic Hand Dryers: allowing old men to blow-dry their balls in the locker room since exhaust fans were removed.

Thus Sayeth the Douchebag

I finally got some hate mail.

The following was posted in February as a comment to the blog post titled "Giving Thanks," which I wrote in Late November. I just now noticed it.

"If you feel that negative about the State and people of West Virginia, you should do both a favor and move on. No doubt your negative attitude is impacting your sub-standard performance and overall duties to your students. Your juvenile comments indicate you're probably only a graduate student anyway - no loss." -- Anonymous

I've never gotten real solid criticism about my writing, much less criticism about my very status as a human being. I actually feel some small measure of accomplishment in being able to provoke such a reaction from a reader (and apparently a citizen of the Mountain State).

Of course what Huckleberry fails to realize is that I've already decided to move on (as in out of the state), but that's not for another year. In the meantime, there's so much to laugh at and so little time. Besides, it's nothing against West Virginia specifically. I'd make fun of anywhere I lived. I can't help it if this state just makes it so damn easy.

I almost love this man for his scorn for grad students. What the poor bastard doesn't realize is that being a grad student brings with it a kind of self-hatred that he can't even fathom.

Hats off to you, Slappy! You've made a worthless grad student proud!!


The Anonymous Posting Feature: Allowing dullards and douchebags to argue without worrying about actually defending their positions since Donahue went off the air.

Anti-Poetry: Illusions of Poverty

I'm currently taking a class that's supposed to be about Manuscripts, but for some reason, all we talk about in there is poetry. I hate poetry. I hate reading poetry. I hate talking about poetry. Well, a friend of mine in the class suggested that we might as well have some fun with poetry at the expense of the class and the humanities in general. She already started the fun here and another friend continued it here, so I now feel that it's my turn.

This poem is inspired by all the assholes in the English department who love to brag about how poor they are even though they clearly live a lifestyle that's contrary to that poverty. You can't spend five bucks for some special blend of coffee, 20 bucks for imported cigarettes, and a hundred bucks on a special bohemian-looking trenchcoat and scarf just so you can look like fucking Allen Ginsberg if you have no money. You also can't look down on people who shop at Walmart because you're too good for it. If you're as poor as you claim, Walmart should be your one-stop shop.

But the rant is getting too long and my anti-poetry awaits, so without further ado, I present you with my anti-poem.

Illusions of Poverty

It's not all that great being really poor
But for English grad students it's not much of a chore.
While the normal view poverty with bile
The English major sees it with style.

The English major will spend a lot
To make it look like he or she is on pot.
Their clothes may look like an old couch cushion
But in fact those threads cost a small fortune.

A pack of Oreos costs about two bucks
But that's not good enough for these pretentious fucks.
No, the Vegan cookie is the absolute must
Even though that shit tastes like sawdust.

The average poor man shops at Walmart
The deals there mean you come out with a full cart.
But the English asshole is not impressed
For Walmart is a bourgeois boot on the oppressed.

So Kroeger's and the Thrift Store call to them
Despite their prices not being much of a gem.
But on the plus side, their image is maintained for the day
Of living in that Bohemian-Great-Depression kind of way.

So if you think you're poor, don't worry
English majors get by with Tofurkey and curry.
Never mind that that shit costs more
It's all a part of being admirably poor.

JP's Anti-Poetry: indiscriminately lumping all English majors into a single insult since last August.

Adventures on the Rail Trail

I haven't blogged in awhile, and I have no good excuse other than sheer laziness and apathy, but I've finally got a good topic.

Lately I've been going biking on Morgantown's Rail Trail. It's a series of paved (though sometimes just compressed sand) paths that stretch along the Monongahela River and Deckers Creek. It's good exercise and some time in the sun for my pasty, flabby body. Still, I have had some strange encounters on that trail.

Story #1: This happened on my second day of biking. Since I wasn't used to the whole etiquette of the trail, I was just biking along in my unimpressive fashion when I passed two older guys who were walking along the trail. One of them stopped me and said, "Hey, when you pass someone you're supposed to say 'passing on the left' so they know you're coming." I thanked the helpful informant and continued on. Shortly thereafter, I encountered a disheveled old man with a big gray beard. Not wanting to disobey the rules of the trail, I said, "Passing on the left." Unfortunately, this schizophrenic hobo starts yelling at me: "Fuck you, you fucking son of a bitch! Don't tell me what to do; I'll kick your ass and kill you, you fucking asshole! Fuck you fucker!" This guy continues to holler as I ride off. Maybe a minute later, I get to a park and rest for a few. As I'm sitting on the bench, the schizo hobo comes along. He's not saying anything until he gets to me, and as he walks by he starts in again: "I'm gonna kill you, you fucking fucker bastard asshole cunt!"

As you can imagine, I don't say anything when I pass anyone anymore. I'll take my chances.

Story #2: This one happened one balmy evening about a week ago. Once again, I'm biking on the rail trail when I encounter a gaggle of geese. There's about 20 of them spread out on the trail. Now, if this had happened a few months ago, I wouldn't have given it another thought, but a friend of mine who's a lifeguard had a very unpleasant encounter with some geese on the beach. They're apparently quite viscious and territorial. I got to experience that first hand. I tried to skirt around the edge of the flock, but the geese got together and started strutting at me like the Legion of Doom or something. One of them hissed at me (until recently, I didn't know geese hissed). I finally just took off at full speed right through the fine-feathered fiends. Two old women coming the other way witnessed all of this and got a good laugh at my expense. But I knew their levity wouldn't last long as it would soon be their turn to confront them.

Story #3: This one happened yesterday. I went biking on the Deckers Creek trail, and on my way back, I see two mentally-challenged kids walking the opposite way. There was no mistaking the awkward walk and the arm against the chest thing. About 100 feet behind them was another kid laying face-down on the pavement.... motionless. I'm thinking, "Oh crap, some kid is dead on the Rail Trail!.... and I don't have a good record with the police." But being the good Samaritan that I am (I was due for my yearly good deed), I stopped by the kid and said, "Are you okay?" The kid suddenly leaps up and starts crawling around yelling, "OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY!!!" He's bobbing around yelling this, which catches the attention of some scraggly old man fishing by the creek who then yells at me, "HEY! LEAVE THOSE KIDS ALONE!!" I didn't know what the fuck was going on, so I did the only manly thing I could do.... I jumped on my bike and rode away.

--------------

I should be afraid to go back, but I like bike-riding. The rail trail is nice even though the people on it are often batshit insane. I really can't wait to see what new adventures this trail will bring.

The West Virginia Rail Trail: Providing peaceful walking paths for lunatics, geese, and retards since 1991.

She Blinded Me With (Faulty) Science

At least Einstein knew how to have some fun

You would think that self-proclaimed academics would have some understanding of academia outside of their own discipline. A few days ago in one of my English classes (the name of the class isn't important... they're all pretty much the same shit), the professor made the following declaration:

"I think that being a Presbyterian minister and a physicist are exactly the same thing."

This is a woman that would classify as "very intelligent," and yet I can't believe she said this with a straight face. Note that she said "exactly" the same thing. At first I thought, Maybe she's being metaphorical. English people do that. Physicists and ministers both seek the truth or something like that. But no, she meant it literally. She went on to say that ministers accept their studies on faith, and physicists must accept their untested theories on faith.

Bullshit.

Physicists accept their theories based on measurable evidence. If a scientist throws a rock a force of 1N that travels 5 feet, then throws a rock with a force of 2N that travels 10 feet, then throws a rock with a force of 3N that goes 15 feet, said scientist can logically conclude that throwing the rock with a force of 4N would result in it going 20 feet even without throwing the rock. It's a theory, but it's based in fact. The minister would probably say that the rock would travel according to God's will. (The Devil's will logically making it go 666 feet)

Same thing goes for the complicated stuff. The Many-Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics postulates that all paradoxes can be resolved if all possible outcomes that can happen, will happen in another universe. A scientist wasn't watching too much Star Trek or Sliders one day and decided, "Fuck it! I'm putting this shit in a textbook! Bearded Spock could be out there somewhere!" These theories are based on logical extrapolations of existing data.

Such is not the case with religion. Say what you want about it, but religion is not scientific. Scientists WANT to be able to prove or disprove their theories. Religion does not do this. If religion could be proven, it wouldn't be called "faith."

This kind of faulty science gets thrown around in English classes a lot. In the same class, the professor argued that the existence of a massive particle accellerator in England (a device she tried to describe but could not name) demonstrated that physics was just as hard to prove as religion. I'm thinking that if some rabbis and priests had a theory that could prove God's existence with a particle accelerator, they probably could have gotten some funding for that by now.

Another fun one for English folk is math. A woman (who shall remain nameless but may share the first name of the First Lady and the last name of a New England Patriots quarterback) tried to tell us at a meeting that all students could love writing if we give them a chance. Yet if you ask any English student or professor what they think about math, you'll invariably hear, "Oh I hate math. I'm so glad I don't have to do it anymore. I can't even calculate a tip." And they're not kidding. English people don't have a clue when it comes to numbers. I told a faculty member once that I took Calculus II, and she looked at me like I was the reincarnation of Pythagoras. Ever see some English majors try to calculate a tip? They have an easier time deconstructing the Marxist and Nietzchean philosophies behind the tipping tradition.

THE UNDESIRABLE PROCLAMATION: If English students and professors don't give a shit about math, we shouldn't care if math and science students don't care about English.

Scientists and Engineers: laughing all the way to the bank since before time began (which they can probably calculate)