I Know Why the Caged Bird Skips

Ladies and gentlemen - we have a winner!

As if by some fortuitous happenstance, only one day after posting my elaborate article about attendance, I received the BEST excuse from a student.

There have been some contenders, as you are no doubt aware. But this one just leaps out as the cream of the crop. So without further ado, the best excuse for missing class ever:

No my Grandmother did not die today, in fact the reason I missed class today was because I unfortunately spent the night last night in jail. I was unable to get a ride back in time to make it to class...

I don't care if it's the truth or a lie. This is the best excuse so far! He even took my lesson to heart. The poor bastard gets double-kudos.

Given the people that the Morgantown police let out on the streets, this guy must have done something pretty impressive to be put in jail in this town. My first class suddenly became a lot more interesting.

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The Morgantown Police Department: Providing the ultimate alibi for my students since August 29. 2007.

The Absent-Minded Professor

Missing class carries harsh penalties.

I don't like having an attendance policy for my class. As far as I'm concerned, the fewer students that show up, the better life is for me. But there are many things about attendance policies that are worthy of rumination.

The English department's current attendance policy is that every student is permitted 3 absences; after that, your grade will start to drop. After six absences, you automatically fail the course. Well let's think about that. Let's say you get rid of this attendance policy. If you are a student who frequently misses class, then there would be three possible outcomes as far as I can tell:

1. You fail the class anyway because you have no idea what's going on.
2. You pass the class with a low C out of sheer luck.
3. You ace the class with flying colors because you can study on your own.

In the first case, the attendance policy is null and void - you fail anyway. In the second case, you've passed the class, but you probably didn't learn jack shit in the class. This will come to bite you in the ass later in life - be it in your job or in future classes - hence punishment is forthcoming. If it never comes to bite you in the ass, then you didn't need the class anyway, so who gives a shit? In the third case, you've aced the class! This is good news. You either studied your ass off in your free time or the class wasn't worth shit. Either way, I don't see how the student is at fault in that instance.

It's one thing if you have a really lousy teacher and don't learn anything in a college course. But if you don't learn shit in a class as a result of your own inability to just show up, then why should anyone care? I just don't see the point. If a student can get a passing grade without showing up, then good for him or her!

Then, of course, there are the lame-ass excuses. It almost makes the attendance policy bearable. Check this one out:

hey [my name] its [dumbass student's name] i made a mistake with my schedual today and met with the basketball team about my work staudy job at 1 because i thought class started at 215, instead of it actually ending then. It was really bone head but it wont happen again. I'll see ya on thursday.

Capitalization and spelling are exactly as they appeared in the email.
Here's an excerpt from another gem that combines several excuses in one:

Mr. [my barely pronounceable last name]
My name is [bullshitter extraordinaire]... I had surgery on monday the 20th and found my aunt passed away so I am now in Utah but I will be back by the 27th....

I know that sometimes life gets rough, but surgery + death + travel all in the same week has my bullshit detector on high alert. Of course, I really don't give a shit. She could have said that she smoked four bongs of buckwheat and passed out in a Chuck E Cheese. They still count as absences.

I'm not even allowed to ask for documentation anymore - it's considered an invasion of privacy. So any excuse is exactly the same. Yesterday, I decided to tell them some secrets of bullshitting professors about missing classes.
Rule 1: Never ask "Did I miss anything important in class?" because it implies that you think some of their classes are a complete waste of time.
Rule 2: Never say "My grandma died" as an excuse. That excuse has become a running joke among teachers. If your grandma really did die.... well..... make up something better. (This joke did not go over well in class - there was a long awkward pause)
Rule 3: If you're making up an excuse, make it sound so awful that no one would think you'd make up something that bad. For example, "I couldn't be in class on Tuesday because I inadvertently got a large, cumbersome object lodged up my backside during an intimate moment with my significant other."

They liked that one. And dammit! If someone sent me that as an excuse, I'd probably let them slide about anything.

That was a long-ass post!

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Absentee Policies - creating a group of habitual liars since Kindergarten.

We Didn't Start the Fire (But We Definitely Laughed)

Most people who know me have probably seen this video, but damn I love it. I don't think I ever get tired of it. It so perfectly demonstrates what happens when people of only moderate intelligence with a decent of amount of money get bored. So please enjoy "Fire Melon."

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Kerosene - Improving the explosive quality of cantaloupes and other tasty fruits for maximum entertainment value.

The English Impatient

I'm so damn sick of being in graduate school.

Over the summer, I decided that I definitely don't want to go on to get my doctorate in English. Getting my master's degree hasn't exactly been a treat, so an additional four years of school after this would be the mental equivalent of slashing my wrists on a daily basis.

Of course, this presents the immediate problem of what to do for the next year. I have 10 more months until I successfully obtain (I hope) my MA in English Literature. The thought of just quitting crossed my mind a few times, but my overinflated ego will not permit this.

My ego is the only thing keeping me going I think. Regardless of my growing bitterness toward the English program and reading in general, I still do my best to get an "A" in each class. I really have no practical motivation. Once I get my master's degree, no one's going to care if I got a "B" in "The Transcendental Representation of 19th Century Victorian Marxist Criticism." Only my ego will be bruised, but that's enough to keep me going for now. It also helps that I really have no better options.

The fall semester started yesterday for me. Teaching actually interests me still - it amuses me. Since it was the first day of class yesterday, none of my students knew what I looked like. I also have kind of a young-ish looking face. So I stroll in very casually and take a seat right in the middle of the room. Immediately I know my ruse has worked; they completely ignore me. They actually believe that I'm one of them. So I sit there, and for awhile nothing happens. Finally, as the time approaches for class to start, one of the young ladies near me says, "Where is this guy?" and her friend says, "I don't know. Sometimes these assholes like to come in right when class starts just to screw with you." I take this opportunity to leap up and yell, "Well! Looks like somebody better get this show on the road!"

The looks on their faces made my day. Totally owned. (Is that a dated word yet?)

I assured the smartass friend that I was indeed an asshole and was screwing with them in my own little way.

After I started class, a guy comes in about five minutes late and asks me, "Is this Physics?" I say, "I hope not." He says, "Good, I'm in the right place" and sits down. I still haven't figured out this kid's logic, but to his credit, he was indeed in the right place.

Once class started, I had them tell me something about themselves that I wouldn't know by looking at them. Most of them were painfully unimaginative, but one guy says, "Despite what I look like, I'm actually a smart guy." The kid looked a little unkempt, but he didn't have a bucktoothed overbite or anything, so I said, "I don't know. What does a dumb person look like?" Without missing a beat, the kid points to the kid sitting next to him. I laughed heartily at that one. (Unfortunately they knew each other - much more hilarity would have ensued had they just met.)

So it's things like that that keep me sane. But I still have ten months to put up with my own classes (I'm taking "Introduction to Old English" and "Nineteenth Century American Literary Magazines" - doesn't that just give you mental orgasm?)

Patience is a virtue, but I've never really been a virtuous person.

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English 101 - Proving time and time again that my entertainment takes precedence over education.

In MySpace, No One Can Hear You Scream

"Giant Douchebag would like to be added as one of your friends."

I got a Facebook account a few years ago and MySpace page some time later. I'm beginning to hate both.

My distaste for MySpace was almost immediate. I decided to sign up for it because it seemed like the trendy thing to do. And what can I say? I wanted to go with the crowd. I encountered problems immediately. I could get the basic information up, but I wanted to add a background. The MySpace page told me, "You need to know HTML." They went on to say, "If you don't know HTML, ask your fellow MySpace members. They're very helpful, and it's a great way to meet new people." The hell they are. *I'm* on MySpace, and I'm not helpful. This was just MySpace's lazy-ass way of getting out of putting an HTML tutorial on its site (or even better, eliminate the need for it altogether).

I also don't understand the concept of the networks that MySpace uses. Apparently, EVERYONE is in my extended network. You'd have to go to Eternia to find someone outside my network. I clicked on my own profile to discover that I'm in my own extended network. I guess I'm my own best friend.

The absolute worst part of MySpace (and the reason I'm a hair's breath away from getting rid of my account) is the never-ending stream of friend requests from fictitious hot women. Typically they're just false accounts with generic names (Who doesn't have a distant friend named Lindsay or Jamie?) that advertisers use to trick you into clicking on the page. Sometimes, however, they come with a little message. Those are the best. "I came across your MySpace page and thought you were funny and kinda cute." Guilty as charged. I am one magnificent bastard.

FRIEND REQUEST DENIED!

Facebook used to be fine. It was a nice way to keep in touch with friends that I wouldn't otherwise see or talk to. But now it's just getting completely out of control. The new "News Feed" feature just completely pisses me off. I don't need to have everyone know when I join the "I want to be nude when I cook bacon" group. Some things are for "me time."

There are all kinds of new features being added to Facebook that people are signing up for. I normally wouldn't give a shit, but when one of my friends signs up for one of these pointless features and then involves my name in some way, *I* get invited to use this cool new time-waster. I tried this one that asked me to compare my friends to each other until I realized that I don't really know half of my Facebook friends anymore. I certainly don't want them notified that I'm categorizing them. That might entice them to talk to me again. I spent a lot of time driving some of these people away. That's progress that I don't want to lose.

INVITATION REQUEST DENIED!

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Tom Anderson - Presuming to be your MySpace friend like the social parasite that he is since 2002.

A Cold Case of Melodrama

"I'm sorry, but your hemophiliac five-year-old daughter was killed 20 years ago by your cancer-ridden wife and her pedophile boyfriend who was actually your long-lost half brother. Aren't you glad I helped?"

I watch a lot of television, but believe it or not, there are some shows I don't catch at all. Some shows I only catch occasionally, and one of those occasional shows is the CBS show Cold Case. My parents watch it a lot, so I usually watch if they're watching. This is easily the most melodramatic show I've ever seen. There is no emotional heart-string that this show won't try to manipulate.

The show revolves around some detectives (whose names I've never cared to learn) who investigate cases that are in the Cold Case Files (police cases that were never able to be solved at the time). Each episode uses a lot of flashbacks to tell the stories of the people involved in the case those many years ago.

The show has its good points. For one, it shows how different people have dealt with the crime years after the incident. The episodes that are actually kinda good involve crimes that took place in the 30's, 40's, or 50's because they show how the crime influenced a lot of people over a long period of time. It's an interesting premise to be sure. I also have to give props to the music. They always use music from the year that the crime took place. Of course, they usually choose really sappy/tragic songs to force you to that bottle of Prozac just a little bit faster.

On the other hand, the stories are so laughably over the top. On one episode, a kid who worked in his meathead dad's grocery store wanted to be a street dancer, but his jealous brother, who hurt his knee in a fight the two had, killed his brother because the injury ruined his chances for a football scholarship. The dancing boy actually shouted at his father, "I WANT TO DANCE!!! WHY CAN'T YOU ACCEPT THAT??"

In the one I saw the other night, a mother tried to commit suicide with her infant daughter because she thought she was a bad mother. She survived, but the baby didn't. Once the case was unraveled, they show the family coming to terms with this as Journey's "Open Arms" plays over the scene. If a more melodramatic scene exists, I'll French-kiss a puma. This isn't exactly an upbeat show. The color scheme for the show is gray. The locales are dark and gray. The characters wear black and gray. Even the film is kinda washed out. Each episode makes me want to kill myself or others.

The detectives really come off like assholes too. They're investigating tragedies that everyone has already dealt with and moved on from. The family doesn't want the investigation. The actually killer CERTAINLY doesn't want it. The public could give a shit about a murder from years ago. The main character's usual justification? The dead person deserves closure. The episode usually ends with the same main character staring at some bizarre afterimage of the victim as the tragic song plays.

This show is fucking strange.

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The Cold Case Department: Using your tax dollars to investigate crimes that nobody wants to have solved since Sherlock Holmes retired to Maui.

Sesame Street: Uncensored

What if the characters of Sesame Street were real people? I think they'd be some people in serious need of medical care. Let's take a look at some of them.

The Cookie Monster: This one's almost too obvious. The guy is a shoe-in for bulimia and diabetes. No one can possibly consume that much sugar without some serious heath concerns coming into play. I'd even go so far as to say that his predilection for cookies borders on addiction.

The Count: Let's overlook the fact that he should be a blood-sucking vampire in reality. This guy has obsessive-compulsive disorder pure and simple. SEVEN!! Seven times that I have to touch the doorknob before I open it. AH AH AH!!

Big Bird: Giant yellow bird who hallucinates a talking lazy-eyed woolly mammoth? Is there anyone suspecting anything other than LSD?

Elmo: He'd be a victim on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit in no time. "Elmo doesn't know the man who touched him in his special place."

Kermit the Frog: What can I say? The guy likes a little cushion for the pushin'. Never mind that he'd be arrested on several accounts of sodomizing a farm animal.

Prairie Dawn: Right up there with Elmo for SVU victim. She looks like the girl who grows up to be a battered housewife - until one day she comes home and just slices off Mr. Hooper's balls with a steak knife.

Grover: He couldn't be more gay if he was buying dildos from Guy Smiley and the Telly Monster. I even saw a Halloween-themed Sesame Street coloring book at my friend's house last night (I'm guessing it was his cousin's, but who knows) that showed Grover in a cheerleader outfit with the caption, "Grover likes to dress up as a cheerleader."
Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Bert and Ernie: Right up there with Grover. Of course, Bert's milquetoast behavior might just be a cover for his fascist and racist tendencies as detailed on the Bert is Evil Website. BEWARE OF BERT.

Oscar the Grouch: Here's a down-on-his-luck guy who'd probably make the perfect poster child for welfare reform. He's got some serious financial difficulties, but that's only due to the oppressive nature of Sesame Street. Hooper's store has a monopoly on the community. Oscar's just looking for a legitimate corner of the market in which to sell his wares. He'd turn to alcoholism or drug use in a heartbeat. Oscar the Grouch after ten shots of tequilla might just decide he's had enough of everyone's shit.

In fact, I think that would be the final outcome in the real world. Oscar the Grouch blows everyone away. You heard it here first.

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Sesame Street - Brought to you today by the letters AA, LSD, OCD, NAMBLA, and LGBT.

The Imperfect Storm

Now THAT'S what I'm talking about!

Well yesterday was certainly a disappointment. The local news stations promised that there's be a huge, dangerous, monstrous storm coming through Morgantown around 5pm yesterday. I was all set to kiss my ass goodbye as I watched the wanton destruction and possible bodily harm around me. It was the most excitement that had been promised to that area since they introduced the telephone ten years ago.

And then the storm came, and it was your everyday non-fatal thunderstorm. YAWN! Where's the tornado? Where's the blown-out circuit breakers and deadly flash floods? I was hoping for a little fun and excitement. Instead I was simply wet and disappointed - like most women who go to bed with me.

Pittsburgh certainly got owned, and the local news stations loved it. From what I can tell, the entire suburb of Millvale must have been totally wiped out because the townsfolk were bawling - which is like music to a newscaster's ears. They kept showing footage of people crying over their flooded homes and people angry about the city not doing something to prevent this (A GIANT DOME OVER THE CITY I SAY!).

Interspersed with their tales of misery and destruction were the weather reports. About fifteen minutes before the promised arrival of the storm in Morgantown, I saw the radar screen for channel four news. Heading straight for Morgantown was a huge blob of red and purple with little swirly things in the middle of it (tornadoes I presume). Huzzah! This was going to be interesting. Nothing spices up a lazy summer afternoon like seeing a neighbor impaled with a rake. I would have even settled for a mudslide or a flash flood. Then the storm comes, and everything's fine. The power didn't even flicker, which is amazing given that the power in my apartment complex will go out if a squirrel farts near a transformer box.

Alas, whatever that purple blob was, it didn't come into Morgantown. I guess we'll have to wait for Prince to come to town before we can get the purple rain.

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Severe Thunderstorms - Providing entertainment for soulless bastards since 1983.

I Saw the Sign

Long-time readers are well aware of my troubles with velocity. Stories revolving around my speeding tickets dominate this blog. My most famous encounter was when I tried to fight a speeding ticket because there was no sign on the road where I was pulled over. I was going 40 in a 25 on a road that looked like it could handle a 40mph vehicle. More importantly, there were no speed limit signs along the stretch of road I was on. I tried to explain this to the pompous windbag identified as "The Prosecutor" (How dare he share a moniker with the likes of Jack McCoy), but he told me that roads in the town limits are assumed to be 25mph if there is no sign. I asked how I was supposed to know this. He said, "You should have asked someone."

Needless to say, I was annoyed. My annoyance grew when my roommate was stopped along the same stretch of road. He was going 45 in a 25. My roommate feigned ignorance by claiming that he didn't know what the speed limit was. This was, of course, a bald-faced lie. Keep in mind that he's my friend - meaning that he's heard me tell my tale more times than Catholics and football coaches say "hail mary!" But the police officer just lets him off with a warning. A WARNING!! The short brown man with a goatee gets off with a warning.... in WEST VIRGINIA!!

Well, three days later, I'm driving down this road again (why I don't avoid this path to class is beyond me) when I see not one, but TWO "Speed Limit 25" signs. Now either my roommate had a more profound effect upon the Morgantown traffic police than I ever could have imagined, or other people have used my particular defense before and the folks at the county courthouse are getting annoyed. Personally, I like to think that this is all because of me - they heard my defense eight months ago, and they just now got around to putting up the signs.

Whatever happened, it's a stupid speed limit for this particular road. It's technically within the Morgantown city limits, but the road resembles a country road with houses on it more than a city street. A speed limit of 35mph would be more reasonable, and I think the traffic cops know this. They want to catch people driving at a reasonable (but still illegal) rate. We high-velocity villains must be stopped.

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The West Virginia Department of Transportation - Providing closure for long-running blog posts since 2007.