My Child is an American Ambassador

I have very little sympathy for American Ambassadors who are killed in foreign countries, where the mere presence of "outsiders" is seen as a threat to the existing regime. Thus, I am completely sick and tired of hearing about Benghazi. Especially how the death of one ambassador and three American nationals is somehow cause for upheaval in Congress. Cause for Hillary Clinton to drop her bid for the White House. Cause for Obama to be scrutinized, once again by the white wing-nuts, because he failed to send more security to the Embassy.

Here are some more failures happening right now:

Millions of children go to school every day without a single armed security guard on their open campuses. While it's true that some schools have neared the point of prison-culture--metal detectors and city police at every entrance--the overwhelming majority of schools, especially in suburbs and rural areas, don't even employ a Mall Cop. Yet four Americans in Benghazi, one who was ex-military, needed heightened security in an area that was becoming increasingly hostile as September 11, 2013 approached. The threats were obvious. Instead of leaving, the diplomats chose to stay put. Which is probably why I'd never hope to be a diplomat--if angry mobs shouted at me, threw things, killed other diplomats in the street, I'd be on the next plane to Geneva.

Millions of children practice in-school "drills" during the school week. Instruction time is consumed by these drills that teach kids--in the event of an emergency--to stay silent in a darkened corner of their classrooms, lest a "bad person" open the door and find them. Yet four American adults, who'd chosen to stay in an antagonistic environment, couldn't take a similar precaution.

Millions of teachers are asked to go to work every day, put themselves in harm's way to save the lives of the children in their classrooms. Ambassadors assume risk when accepting their positions. Teachers should not have to assume the risk of bodily harm.

A group of community college teachers took it upon themselves to invent a way of barricading their classrooms against an attack. The college where they worked didn't think their lives were worth the cost of installing doors that could protect classroom occupants during an Active Shooter event.

Bulletproof backpacks and backpack inserts are being marketed and sold to parents.

I've written about my stance on gun control before.

After over forty more school shootings since that post, my view hasn't changed.

***

On the roadside in front of my daughter's elementary school are yellow yield signs with the message
"Caution: Future World and Local Leaders at Work and Play."

My daughter's school administrators value the lives of the children inside, so much so that they caution passersby to slow their roll lest they run down a future American Ambassador. Yet my own local, state, and federal politicians could care less about those future leaders. They're too busy getting kick-backs and payoffs from the NRA.

They're allowing children to die.

I want those politicians to be held accountable. They need to be brought up on charges of treason--their crimes include the deaths of 117 students. 117 future leaders. 117 future Ambassadors.

Out of 160 Active Shooter incidents between 2000-2013, 39 took place at schools. During those 39 incidents, 117 students were killed, and 120 were wounded. According to the FBI, "Incidents in educational facilities account for some of the higher casualty counts." So while more Active Shooter incidents happen in public places (45.6%), the casualty rate is lower per incident.

In 13 years, 117 students were gunned down in a place that was supposed to be safe--their own country--by one (sometimes more) of their own citizens. And our politicians continue to allow that to happen. The people with the power to make our future ambassadors safe are failing to do so. Because they're being paid to allow students to die.

How many ambassadors have been killed in that same time? After looking at several different sources, I've come up with a total: 6. A half dozen adults die in foreign countries, where risk is part of the job description, and the nation loses its collective mind.

But 117 students are simply par for the course. A sacrifice to the gun lobby gods. I'm sure their parents will understand.

What's even more alarming about the "outrage" over Lybia, is this graphic (Courtesy of Mother Jones):

The number of attacks (not even resulting in the death of an Ambassador or diplomat) has decreased over forty years, dramatically so within the last eight.

Yet, according to the National Center for Education Statistics, "Between July 1, 2011 and June 30, 2012, there were a total of 45 school-associated violent deaths in elementary and secondary schools in the United States. Of the 45 student, staff, and non-student school-associated violent deaths occurring during this time span, there were 26 homicides."

In one year: 26 innocent children
In over a decade: 6 adults who knew the risks they were assuming


Even more alarming is the information about the way students actually feel on campus or going to/from campus: "In 2013, about 3 percent of students ages 12–18 reported that they were afraid of attack or harm at school or on the way to and from school during the school year. Similarly, 3 percent of students ages 12–18 reported that they were afraid of attack or harm away from school during the school year."

According to the 2010 census, there were 53,980,105 children in America aged 5-17. Three percent of that number is 1,619,403. Though the NCES only measured middle and high school fear levels, if we assume that elementary students--who practice the same "drills" as their older counterparts--share those fears, over 1.5 million schoolchildren live in fear of "attack or harm."

Schoolchildren: over 1.5 million
Ambassadors: 6

***

An all-out ban on weapons will not work. I lived through the "Just Say No to Drugs" campaign and have studied enough about Prohibition to know that an all-out "ban" won't work. Americans are assholes that way. Tell us "no" and we'll find a way to do it.

I've been told by rational, educated people that restricting the purchase of guns won't keep them from being bought and/or traded. Truer words were never spoken, according to a recent New York Times article chronicling the ability of 8 Active Shooters with documented mental illnesses to obtain several guns each.


But the status quo isn't working.

As of this post, nothing is being done.

No legislators are coming forward to address this very real problem.

There is no one voice fighting the blood money.


When the future leaders at my daughter's school become old enough to vote, I wonder what they'll do with the fear and terror they've lived with for the entirety of their school years. Will they vote for change, advocate for change, demand change? Will one of them be the voice we need?

Or will these future leaders go out and buy guns, and more guns, and more guns, with the hope of making themselves feel safe? Will they carry those guns with them to the grocery store, to their own childrens' schools? Or will they, one day, be so overwhelmed with fear that they wander into a gun shop, purchase an automatic weapon, and turn it on their neighbors, their coworkers, their own children?

Here's the REAL Problem with College Rape Culture

Don't worry about them, they're only jokes about raping your daughter. Lighten up. Only uptight administrators and Women's Studies majors are upset about these banners.

In a patriarchal culture, where jokes about female anatomy are explicit and those about sex, rape, and control are often implicit, it's a woman's job to intuit the dangers of both. At least that's what comments regarding Sigma Nu's offensive banners would have us believe. A woman needs to know the difference between "having a good time" and "I'm going to get you drunk and have sex with you whether you want to or not." But no one is going to teach her those things. She's got to put herself in a sexually dangerous situation before she can distinguish between them. And it's her father's job to lead her into the open arms of her predators, apparently.

She also needs to learn "it's always been like this," so she should just sit back and let rape culture continue.

Ahem. Just because a culture has previously accepted bad behavior as part of the mainstream, does not mean a change isn't in order. See "slavery." At any point in history. See "Black Lives Matter." See "suffrage" or "oppression" or "the American Revolution."

When these Old Dominion University students hung banners outside of their home asking for "baby girls" (and their mothers) to be dropped off, they promised a "rowdy and fun" time. As a woman and mother, I was immediately offended and sickened by the implications of those banners. Additionally, I wondered how these men made it through (at least one year of) college at a prestigious institution without one person challenging them about their views of women, rape, and sexism. How is that possible?

As a female faculty member at a small college, I got angry.  These men seem to think that women enjoy being referred to as babies. With all of the news lately about grown men sexually assaulting children, I'd think these fraternity members would've at least considered the notion that sex with babies might not be the best way to persuade members of the opposite sex to enter their abode. I also find it difficult to believe that any notion of feminism has escaped their knowledge. I'm sure some professor has at least mentioned it as part of a writing assignment or multiple choice test. Did those young men really not know what they were implying? I'm sure someone at the University heard or read something from these young men that was equally offensive prior to their ill-worded banner. I've seen and heard plenty of inappropriate language. And I challenge students on it. That's my job and responsibility. Why weren't these men ever corrected beforehand?

Then I really got angry. I teach writing, so when I see words like "fun" and "rowdy" I think That's the best language you could use? Those words are vague at best, insulting and heinous at worst. They are abstract. They mean different things to different people. A rowdy afternoon in my house means that all three of my kids are jumping on the furniture. A rowdy time at the frat house conjures images of drunken young men staggering around on a lawn. My Friday night fun time could be watching a movie as I brush my daughter's hair. While the fun time had by Sigma Nu could be raping freshmen co-eds. Which, because they were so vague, is exactly what their sign implies. I doubt a single person in America read those banners and thought, "Oh, they're not talking about something sexual."

Yeah. Pigs are flying out of my ass. Right. Now.

While I'm being outraged over grammar, 

I'd like to put in a side note here: 

based on the way this banner is written, 

they want to call someone "daddy" 

now that "she" is no longer doing it. 

Oye.

A group of male Ohio State students hung a banner outside of their home advertising "Daughter Daycare" to fathers dropping off their freshmen. When questioned about it, Alex Sheets, an occupant of the house, said, "My dad, he is a good Christian man, I am a good Christian man, but we just do this for fun. We are not trying to cause any havoc or stir up any trouble, we are just trying to have some fun."

The problem with that statement--beyond the use of the abstract word "fun" which thus implies being a sexual predator is "fun"--is the use of "but." I'm a good man, but... I'm a Christian, but... "But" what? Your goodness and belief in a higher power excuse your heinous behavior? No. The use of the conjunction "but" suggests that your previous clause is about to be at odds with the clause that follows the conjunction. So when Mr. Sheets uses "but" instead of "and" (an addition to the subject, a continuation of the first clause), he's admitting culpability. He knows what he's doing is not right, is vulgar and indecent. He knows the banner was inappropriate. But he did it anyway, in the name of "fun." (See what I did there with the conjunction?)

So all of the Mr. Sheetes of the world think a joke at the expense of a woman's safety is acceptable. Never mind that it makes her uncomfortable or squeamish or look over her shoulder for the predator closing in. She's just overreacting if she wants to turn around and head back home instead of set foot on a college campus that endorses such behavior. Our culture accepts a man's excuse for just having a little "fun" because we still buy into "boys will be boys" and "we need to protect the women." You won't need to protect your daughters, wives, girlfriends, aunts, or sisters if you stop accepting rape culture, if you stop perpetuating it.

If you start accepting responsibility for it. OSU senior Justin Miller, Mr. Sheet's housemate, said, "Our motives were not to insult or look down on anyone, not to be sexist. Our motive is just to have fun, it is college." Perhaps Mr. Miller has forgotten the point of college. College can be "fun." In fact, many of my fondest memories are of the "fun" times I had on my University's campus. "Fun" I had without putting myself in the care of sexual predators. But what college "is" is not "fun." It's serious work. The function of a college is to prepare people for the world, a career, a future. Colleges graduate those who've completed course study and are ready to take on large responsibilities. Judging by the banners outside of their house, these young men are preparing for lives as sexual predators. Or worse, they expect other men to willingly hand over their daughters, as if they're entitled to them. As if women are property to be exchanged and bartered.

Furthermore, Mr. Miller claims he's not a sexist, but I wonder why he didn't open his home to all freshmen. Why just the daughters? Um, that's sexism, Mr. Miller. 

And here's a fact about "motive" and rape: it's a crime that doesn't require a motive. You did it. The reason doesn't matter. There are not degrees of rape, the way there are with things like murder, fraud, and theft. Your motives wouldn't factor into your defense in an American court. No one gives a damn about your motives. Your actions speak for themselves.

I'm glad ODU's president responded with an open message condemning the banners. I hope the offenders are ejected from their fraternity. I hope we learn their names. In fact, I'd like to know the names of anyone who thinks those sorts of messages are appropriate. Perhaps armed with that information, we can work to enlighten, and change the culture. The University needs to see this moment for what it is: an opportunity to engage its student body in a real world issue, to seek solutions from young people for young people. They don't need to just give lip service to it, then quietly let it go away. They need to create a safe environment for everyone, not just the female cohort.

In fact, they could take this opportunity to really empower said cohort, since female college students seem to need a refresher in identifying and disengaging in rape culture. For example, members of an OSU sorority posted a banner making sure "boys" "pull out" (while simultaneously throwing someone named "Megan" under the bus). These sorority sisters and their double-entendres should be held accountable for perpetuating a culture of rape. They are just as culpable as their male counterparts. In my eyes, they are even more culpable. They don't even realize they're victims of a patriarchy that values them for what is between their legs (no matter what's inside of their heads). They've bought into devaluing themselves and other women, including the daughters they may one day conceive. They're blind to the problems this sort of thinking has caused our country--like lower pay for women, little-to-no maternity leave, and accepted sexual harassment in the workplace.

The smiles on these women's faces are frightening. The one young woman bending over while being held by another housemate, and the one across from them laughing heartily, are enough to make me frightened. For me and for them. They have no idea what they're saying, endorsing, or perpetuating. This isn't "girl power" or "empowerment." It's rape culture working at a subconscious level.


The outrage over the sorority signs at OSU quickly devolved into calling these women "sluts." So women are either babies or sluts. This sounds like the same sort of dichotomy that was proposed and refuted in one of my freshman seminar courses twenty years ago. I went to a progressive California University nestled among a very conservative county. I was educated how not to pigeon-hole other women, myself, and even--can you believe it!--men. Using sexually explicit or implicit language to degrade anyone, yourself included, is unacceptable.

This is the real problem with college rape culture: generations of "educated" women who subconsciously perpetuate it, who find sexually explicit jokes "funny," who call other women "whores" and "sluts." These "educated" women will one day infiltrate the corporate world, the professional world, and classrooms. They will allow themselves, other women, and our daughters to be pinched, touched, and prodded by men and boys. They will distinguish between "normal" men and "child molesters," but they won't see that by accepting an aggressive, patriarchal, sexually-charged environment they're endorsing rape.

The young woman sitting next to this young man

is smiling. I wonder how long that smile will last

when she can't afford "the day after drug"

or is harassed when attempting to make an

appointment at Planned Parenthood

They'll shake their heads, perhaps even rail against conservative societies that require women to cover everything but their eyes lest a man be tempted into a sexual act. But they'll think nothing of calling another woman "slutty" if one too many buttons of a blouse is unfastened. They'll be shocked and horrified by random stranger rapes--those that get sensationalized in the media--but when a friend attempts to confide in them that she's been assaulted by a man she went to dinner with, they'll say, "What did you do? What did you wear? What did you say?" They'll deflect attention from the rapists. They'll think it could never happen to them.

And I Don't Know What to Do with My Anger

I'm very angry. And by that I mean I've made snarky comments to my husband and he's now sick of them so I'm going to blog about my anger. It takes a lot to get my blood boiling. And it takes a special kind of asshole for me to publicly acknowledge that assholishness. I'll take a lot of shit from someone. But I can't stand a person who lowers my property values.

If you've read any of my blogs, you're familiar with the woman who took up residence in the beautiful, well-maintained home next door. You're also familiar with the 4-6 grandchildren living with her at any given moment, the revolving door of pets, and the daughter(s) in and out of rehab/prison. You know that she converted the two-car garage into bedrooms and allowed the above-ground pool to congeal into a cesspool that eventually broke free of its walls and killed the grass and beautiful ornamental bushes in the backyard. You know there's the constant smell of dog shit wafting from the yard. For reasons unknown, she's never bothered to use the sprinkler system on the grass and has let the crape myrtle trees and hedges grow willy-nilly. The doorbell is missing. Only two wires remain, poking through a dark hole near the front door. The front bedroom window has been boarded up for two years, ever since one of the ragged teens broke the glass with a baseball bat.

Earlier this summer, the teens were all been shipped off to their respective fathers. Then, my neighbor's brother suddenly died, and she has been left to care for her elderly mother. She stays with her mother for days at a time and the house has been empty, quiet.

But last month, she took in a woman with three children. The youngest child, and only girl, is a year ahead of our daughter in school. They have been attached to each other all summer, often playing until it's dark outside. She is a sweet little girl, well mannered. I like her. And that's saying something. Because I hate kids.

So I allowed myself to think that perhaps I was being too hard on my neighbor. If my daughter enjoyed playing at the house, and I enjoyed having one of its residents as a guest, I really shouldn't get upset when the sturdy wooden mailbox post suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a rickety bent pole held up by three landscape pavers. It was a price I was willing to pay for my daughter's happiness.

I was even a bit awed--and jealous--this weekend when a whirlwind of activity began outside of the house. A parade of lawn care dudes and pressure washing dudes and shirtless dudes, marched around repairing, cleaning, pruning, and sprucing. I thought perhaps the young woman and her three children were making some sort of positive influence on my neighbor. Perhaps with the other teens gone to their daddies, my neighbor could finally make the house a home. She was even out in the yard cutting away dead limbs on the once-lush knockout roses.

Then, the unthinkable happened. They put down pine straw.

Mulching is a commitment. It says, "See, I care if my trees and shrubs and flowers live through the harsh weather."

I thought, Holy shit, they've actually started to take pride in the place now that they've completely fucked it up. Even with the enclosed garage and still-boarded window, the yard maintenance was enough to make me think that the property value had risen a bit.

I bragged to my neighbor on the fantastic job.

I should have known.

I came home from work today and a "For Sale" sign was in the yard. And not the half-assed yeah-we-may-sell sort of "By Owner" shit. This is the real deal. A Coldwell Banker sign.

Great. I think we all know the kind of people who buy homes with converted garages. I hate those people. They have a slew of lonely pets. Their garbage cans are constantly over-filled. There are strange smells seeping through the cracked windows. That's right. I'm talking about large families. Families with hoards of kids. Knock-on-your-door-all-the-time kids. Kids with snotty noses and scraped knees and sticky hands. Kids like mine.

Now that my neighbor has done so much ugly damage that a pressure wash and a layer of pine straw won't cover it, she's abandoning ship. She's going to allow a huge family to move in and terrorize me. I can see it now: the mother who will home-school the entire brood. And the husband who will shake his head because I work. They'll take "stay-cations."

And they'll lower my property value with the 10,000 plastic sand buckets and ride-on toys strewn about the front lawn.

I just can't wait. Can't. Wait.

Staten Island: You Get What You Don't Vote For

...in 2009, Staten Island had a population of 491,730 residents of which 76.9% were over eighteen years of age (according to the US census bureau)...that means there were 378,140 potential voters living in Staten Island in 2009...

...roughly 70,000 registered voters in Staten Island cast ballots in the last NYC mayoral election...if we use 70,000 as a benchmark for the number of Staten Island residents who vote in a typical local election, 5.4% of people are determining who runs the city...

...so 5.4% of people are deciding how the city is run...

...i recently came across a news clip of protesters in Berkeley shutting down part of a freeway and the BART to show solidarity with their Staten Island brethren protesting the grand jury decision to pass on an indictment of the police officer who used a choke hold on eric garner...i love a good protest...especially if it'll shut down a branch of "the system" that is "broken":

...i don't love traffic...nor do i love the common practice of the police murdering citizens...but i fail to see the connection between stopping traffic and stopping the abuse of power...

...a protest march on Washington is in the works...fantastic...but i wonder if al sharpton and the rest of the organizers wouldn't mind reminding their protesters that a grand jury decided not to indict the officer...grand jury members are selected from the general populace of registered voters...

...additionally, most cities in america hold local elections for positions like district attorney...dan donovan has won four Staten Island races...it was his "office" that failed to persuade the grand jury that the officer should stand trial...

...so to use my perfect math and wonky hypothesis on voting trends: 5.4% of Staten Island residents have voted for dan donovan four times...the other 94.6% of potential voters have been content to let that happen...in the case of eric garner--and any other people murdered by police--you get what you vote for...or, for Staten Island residents, you get what you don't vote for...

...i realize protesting gets press...i realize there are no sound bytes when we vote...it's illegal--within 100 yards of a polling place--to carry signs or wear controversial t-shirts that make grand statements about candidates or issues...but if you're willing to stand in the middle of a freeway and stop traffic because you think "the system" is letting you down, you should be willing to stand in line to vote to change that system...there's probably less of a chance of being hit by a car doing the latter...

It's Election Day...So Why Am I At Work?

...so i voted in my first election when i was eight...technically, my vote didn't count (thank the gods because i simply checked all of the republican candidates' boxes the way Grandma told me to) but i was hooked on politics at that point...during every election, Grandma volunteered to run the polls...and at every election, i was there with her...

...neither one cares about you...
...both are completely fine with allowing the universe to collapse...

...i don't understand why today isn't a national holiday...i mean, we still celebrate columbus and he was a slave-owning miscreant whose own crew mutinied (three different times)...he was brought back to europe in chains...he couldn't have navigated his way out of a palace hedge maze and he thought natives were animals who should be brought back to "civilization" in cages...but, hey, close the banks...

...seriously...here's a way to get more people to the polls: HOLIDAY!

...turn this time into a four-day weekend...that way americans can vacation, shop, and overeat...and, perhaps, squeeze in a vote...

An Open Letter to Any Students Taking College Composition, But Specifically My Own

Dear Writing Students,

Stop blaming your high school English teachers for your mistakes. Just because they didn't teach you how to diagram sentences doesn't mean you can fault them when you misuse a conjunction. And stop asking if you can start a sentence with "and" or "but." YES YOU CAN! (Notice I've done it once already and I haven't burst into flames.) To begin a sentence with "and" or "but" is a stylistic choice. We write sentences that begin with "and" and "but" for emphasis. Because of No Child Left Behind, your high school English teachers couldn't cover this complex nuance of the written word. But they understand it. And they've seen it in action in plenty of "books." (You know, "books"? Those funny-smelling rectangular things with words on the pages?) If sentences couldn't begin with "and," Joan Didion would be a Starving Unknown, living in the doldrums of Sacramento.

Holy-One-Sentence-Chapter, Batman!

Speaking of Didion, it's also perfectly fine to write a one or two sentence paragraph. Again, writers do this for emphasis of a point they're making.

Quit trying to fool me with your enlarged margins, extra spaces between paragraphs, and/or 14 point fonts. We've covered MLA style. Even if you missed it, you can Google it and figure it out. This isn't my first rodeo, cowboys. I can spot intentional MLA finagling from a screenshot away.

What the fuck do you mean you "don't know how to word process"? Computers have been around longer than you've been alive.  I used a typewriter in college. My life got totally complex when I got my first dot matrix printer. (I know you have no idea what I'm talking about, so Google these things.) I've figured out how to open, write, and save my documents. You should've been able to do it in utero.

Having a computer that has crashed, died, blown up and created a house fire, or otherwise failed you right as you finished your essay is no excuse for losing all of your work. Your generation invented USB drives. You're required to have one for the class. (See the syllabus.) Plug the damned thing in and save your blank document before you start to write. Then save it after you write every paragraph. BACK YOUR SHIT UP, people. Seriously, you're exhausting me.

Let me give you some sage advice: call your loved ones now. Especially your grandparents. Because I'm about to assign an essay and it's going to kill a lot of elderly people. In fact, it might also kill your pet turtle, your brother's best friend who-is-like-a-brother to you, and a member of "1 Direction." I'm not kidding. It happens all the time. I am a mass murderer. Sometimes I kill every member of my students' families, except parents, siblings, aunts and uncles, and cousins. But the rest die as soon as the essay writing begins. I'm trying to save you from the shame spiral into which my past students have fallen. The grief is going to consume you and you won't be able to write your essays if you don't call/visit/coddle your grandma/turtle/friend/boy band member. So go ahead and stop reading this letter and get in touch with these loved ones. Right now.

Also, I keep a stack of sympathy cards in my office for moments like those mentioned in the previous paragraph. I send them to the affected families, so when you come to my office with a program from the funeral, be prepared to leave me with an address where I can send my deepest regrets for your recent loss.

Okay, so you've got kids. Guess what? So do I. Three of them. Ohmygodwetotallyjustbonded. No.

Okay, so you've got kids who, for some reason, constantly keep you from getting your essays done. The last time you sat down to write, your toddler pushed the exact key on the keyboard that deleted all of your work. That is one fucking smart kid to have picked that one key from a whole host of keys. Call MENSA now. Let that kid pick your next Lotto numbers. And what key is it, exactly, that deletes everything? I don't seem to have it on my keyboard and I want to get one so I can use this excuse the next time my boss gives me a deadline.

Seriously?
Someone got paid to write this book?

Your car caught fire? Your meth-addicted significant other suddenly had to enter rehab? Your husband is having an affair with another married man who is also a transvestite? Wow. Sucks to be you. I don't think you'll recover. Honestly. Drop the class.

And. TMI. Boundaries, people.

When the internet at your house crashes (say huh?), don't just throw up your hands and say, "Well, I guess I can't research my essay/turn my essay in/email my essay." Get your ass to the nearest building with internet access and DO YOUR WORK. If your digital television provider suddenly stopped broadcasting right in the middle of a bowl game, your little behind would be huffing it to the nearest Buffalo Wild Wings. So I expect you to make the long journey to a place I like to call a "library"--that's where the "books" are free and so is the internet access. Take your USB drive and head out into the great unknown. Or you can just go to Starbucks.

What's that you say? You don't have the money to buy the "books" for this class and so you haven't done the reading? That's interesting. Most of what we're reading can be found by Googling. The rest can be found in the "library" on campus. And by the way, how much did those shoes/that grill/your highlights/cell phone cost? Uh huh. Drop the class.

I completely agree that Bill Gates is the devil. But even I
know this Wikipedia entry is bogus.

Wikipedia is not an acceptable source for research, nor will it ever be. If you don't quit asking, I'm going to make you go to the "library" and use an actual "book."

So you "just can't find the time" to get to my class. Perhaps what you really mean is you "just can't find the time" to be a college student. I've got a kooky idea--quit school and work full time at a minimum wage job. That way, you only have to show up, do something for about nine hours, and go home. You can totally afford an apartment and a decade-old car and gas and weed and beer on minimum wage. Be happy. Don't bother with college. Unless, of course, you eventually want healthcare. Or a marriage/family. You might be able to support one more person on minimum wage, if you cut out the weed and beer. But there is no way in hell you can support an entire brood. Do yourself a favor, sterilize yourself now. And stock up on hand sanitizer.

Accept the fact that nothing you write about will ever be profound. It won't be. Even if it is about your high school graduation.

Thanks for the poorly-written email which half-ass clarifies why you left in the middle of class. I thought I'd offended you by mentioning prepositional phrases. (As far as I know, these are not the same as what you refer to in your email as "propositional phrases.") Of course your mother's telephone call was much more important than my class. In fact, your parents are much more important than your entire college education because you will end up living with them, not me, when you violate the school's absence policy and are dropped from all of your classes. Take your parents' calls during my lectures. In fact, give them your schedule so they'll call you three times during one fifty minute class. I'm sure they don't give a rat's ass about your education.

I get these all of the time.

Sure I'm here to help you properly string words together, and maybe even inspire you to write something you'll be proud to show to someone other than your MENSA toddler. But really, essay writing is about demonstrating thought and meeting deadlines. If you spend a whopping three hours composing your essay on the eve the work is due--say between eleven and two in the morning--and then admit this to your instructor when you hand it in, not only will you forever be branded as a total fucking idiot, but you're basically saying you don't have time to think. Because you're too busy visiting with your soon-to-be-dead grandmother, probably.

Think of procrastinating this way: it's your birthday and your mom--whose calls you always take, even during my class--has forgotten to get you a gift. So she runs over to the corner convenience store and grabs a bag of pork rinds and a plastic rose that's been collecting dust since the Clinton administration (Google, cowboys). Then she hands these things to you, unwrapped, while you're sitting at the dinner table and says, "I completely forgot it was your birthday."

I'm going to post this message 
to my office door.

Let that feeling sink in. Then grade your mom on her work.

Uh huh: Mom Fail. Fail=F.

That's pretty much the exact way your writing instructor feels about your shitty, last-minute, my-life-is-so-complex-I-can't-write-in-my-own-language essay.

However, if you actually put in some effort, say six hours here or there, and really think hard about your topic, put those thoughts on paper in an attempt to communicate in the language you've been speaking incorrectly since birth, format the page using MLA style, and get it done on time, you'll learn that your efforts are not in vain. You'll earn that D in a blaze of glory.

And just because I look "young and hip" or seem "cool" don't think I won't totally nail your ass on all of the bullshit you spew my way. In fact, it's the "young and hip" and "cool" instructors you should be most afraid of because we're fresh out of graduate school and have delusions that our classrooms will be filled with intelligent people high expectations.You should also be afraid of the "older" and "cranky" instructors because they're close to retirement and have nothing to lose. They will totally flunk your ass for misspelling their names in the heading. In general, you should just be afraid. Never assume that, because you sit in a room for three hours a week, your instructor suddenly becomes your bff and actually gives a shit. We're just counting the days until you violate the attendance policy so we can drop your sorry ass and read one less shitty essay.

Sincerely,

Your Instructor

The Gross

...even though it's like pouring warm water on a frostbitten foot, i continue to listen to "Fresh Air" whose host i've taken to referring to as The Gross...i think i'm biased against her, in part, because of her shoddy interview with barry hannah, where it's clear barry is humoring her...but something that also bothers me is her corny laugh...she sounds like the long-lost sister to beavis or butthead...

...there's a resemblance here, right? i can't be the only idiot who thinks so...

...you'd think that after years of interviewing celebrities, politicians, and other important people, she'd grow out of that schoolgirl giggling and just do a damned good interview...is it too much to ask that she be barbara walters?

...still, i listen...and i cringe...and every so often i'll write down a phrase, word, or sentence uttered by The Gross that actually makes me embarrassed...so much so i feel an overwhelming need to crawl under my desk, and begin moaning and rocking until the  prickles of her voice on those words is eradicated from my brain...i wish there was a way to open the top of my skull and bleach some of these away...

...i thought purging them might help to keep them from spinning in my brain during the wee hours of the morning when i can't sleep...

"So, when you come out of rehab, and you're, like, off drugs..." say huh? what does it mean, exactly, to be "like, off drugs"?

"So I'm having a lot of trouble wrapping my mind around the concept of parallel universes..." thank you for this keen, insightful, and interview-worthy comment...

"What about throwing up blood? Did you consult a magician for that too?" this is from her notorious interview with Gene Simmons...really, that whole interview made me cringe, but for some reason when she said this phrase i lost it...i thought, no, The Gross, he consulted a doctor who said, "Sure, Gene, puke blood"...

"I think, like, the human voice is an amazing instrument. Like the more you understand it, the more amazing it becomes." (an interview with Tom Waits)...was this some sort of backhand insult about Waits' voice?...this is a woman who TALKS for a LIVING, and this was her profound wisdom about voices...

"How much sadism is, like, enough?"

"Yes, your manhood is kind of, like, italicized."

 "Well, I'm going to say it and I hope it gives you pleasure."

...these phrases came from three different interviews, if you can believe it...

...The Gross has a series of words she tends to rush through, slur, or almost lick onto the microphone so as to distort her voice and make the listener wonder, What the hell did she just say?...words like "sex" and "meth dealer" and "bra" and "yearning"...when she says these things, my brain summons a giddy schoolboy who has stolen the mic from the principal during an assembly, is running around the auditorium pursued by wild-eyed teachers, and is muttering into the too-close foam ball of said microphone all of the curse words he can before getting caught...i'll never be able to hear someone say "hard drive" again without thinking of The Gross and suddenly feeling like i need a sterilizing shower...

...perhaps my masochistic relationship with The Gross has to do with her use of "like" during her interviews...it's a word that, like, used to, like, make it's way into, like, every conversation i had when i was, like, a
teenager in california...it reminds me of talking to my sisters--who live far away from me and i hardly ever see--because when we, like, talk on the phone, we, like, totally throw back to, like, the eighties...though her show is taped in philly, her overuse of "like" reminds me of those wayward years when i could talk to someone and wasn't expected to follow the rules of standard american english grammar...

I Want Boehner's Job

...i'm going to start working the way our representatives work and see what happens...

1. Congress never shows up to work the way normal Americans do. In fact, they take off for the entire month of August. Nearly a full week of every other month is devoted to "constituent work." Right. Boo-hoo, they put in 60 hour work weeks. I once had a colleague who added up all of the time he devoted to each task he completed each day. He found out he was working 29 hours a day.

• I'm going to start listing my student contact hours as "in my office" or "virtual teaching" and then, I don't know, go to the mall or a U-2 concert.

2. Under the Bush reign, Congress failed to pay for two wars, though our Constitution clearly states that taxes have to be levied to do so. Taxes were cut, thus increasing the national debt.

• I'm going to tell my students that every assignment they complete must be turned in electronically. Then I'm going to tell them if they use any electronic devices, they'll fail the course.

3.  Congress gives itself pay increases and benefits packages. What might Jefferson have given himself? More slaves. More land. More velvet knickers.

• I'd like to start voting for my own accommodations at work--an office with a window, zero deductible health care, a salary large enough to support my family on one paycheck.

4. Our representatives can work until they die. Meanwhile, the president has to solve all of the problems they've created in four (maybe eight) years. All other elderly Americans get pushed out of the workplace and become Wal-Mart greeters. John Boehner becoming a Wal-Mart greeter would be one more reason to avoid Wal-Mart.

• I'm going to stop using all forms of technology in my classrooms. I'll refuse to use e-mail. I'll start making ditto copies. I'll demand a typewriter to replace my computer. My students will be forced into the library where they'll actually hold books in their hands--this is the only way to read! I'm too old to learn new things, and these whippersnappers aren't taking over on my watch.

5. Let me get this straight--they banged a gavel, announced they were in session, and left the chamber? No one in sight. Just so the president couldn't do his job. This is the equivalent of reserving a tennis court, failing to show up to play, and suing the Parks and Rec department when they let someone play on the reserved court.

• I'm coming to work Monday and putting a note on my office door that I'm inside. Then I'll go home.

6. The popularity of our constituents drops below 10%, yet over 90% of incumbents are reelected. Hum.

• I have an advisee who has taken the same class twice. And failed twice. By doing the same thing--plagiarizing a paper. But instead of reporting him to the Dean, I'll just allow him to enroll in the class again. Because he says he's gonna change.

7. Many representatives are blatantly sexist and racist. From the comments on rape, to insinuations about "inner city" populations, they don't care who they offend. They're not afraid to share their individual prejudices with the world. And the world isn't afraid to think those sexist and racist comments represent the whole of America.

• The next time a pregnant African-American student enters my classroom, I'm going to say, "Who's the baby daddy this time? All of the instructors here are saying it's some dude with three other illegitimate kids." Let's see how that goes over.