Thursday, September 14, 2006

Flippant Reflections on College (Part One)

I've said many times I didn't really care for "college" (the whole package) - I liked the classes but not the people (it depends on the school you go to, I believe) - so now that I'm back doing graduate studies (after years of real world experience, whatever the heck that means nowadays), it forces me to reflect on what is so terribly wrong with college ... and I was right all along: it's mostly the other people.

COMPLAINT ONE: Group Work Is a Cop-Out
Take it from someone who knows. The teacher gets out of teaching, leaving the class to ultimately teach itself. And what happens within the groups? The work is never spread out equally (there's always a slacker or three), the students argue over the work, there's never a set 'leader' and the final project is almost always sloppy. The actual class presentation is so dull and droning I want to take everyone in the group and light their Birkenstocks on fire to entertain myself.

COMPLAINT TWO: Girls In Class Look Like Shit
No make-up, track pants, wet hair and a stinky t-shirt? Not acceptable. Get a few quarters and wash things. I'm trying to fantasize about you spread eagle on my bed coated in butterscotch being choked by a necktie and the bags under your eyes are a distraction.

COMPLAINT THREE: Grow a Personality
College kids are only funny when they're drunk. Beer in plastic cups should not make you a comedian. Every day is not a trial - chances are your parents are paying for this joy ride you call a Bachelor's Degree. If you can't sleep, try a sleeping pill. If one doesn't work, swallow the whole box. In the morning, drink coffee, shoot up bug juice, masturbate to Animal Planet, whatever floats your tug boat. Smile. Because it gets worse a little later on.

COMPLAINT FOUR: Stop Faking Suicide
I interviewed for a job at the campus Psych clinic and I can't believe how pathetically emo a lot of these kids are. Stop making a scene. You should have sorted that shit out in high school, drama queen. Maybe that guy doesn't like you because you actually do have a head shaped like a banana. Maybe that girl doesn't like you because you don't wear the right clothes. Maybe you like eating pillows and get turned on by cigarette burns on your nipples. Remember those commercials with the butterfly or the teardrop and the magical happy pills? Those pills are begging to float inside your brains. Don't take them with grapefruit juice.

Why is it that after every class everyone whips out their cell phones to notify their friends they're getting out of class? Your campus is five feet long, can't you just use your meaty thighs and WALK to the other person? No wonder there's such a thing called the Freshman 15. Your ass shouldn't suck canal water: do something about the blubber. Also Verizon called back: they don't need any more of your parents' money.

COMPLAINT SIX: Greek Bullshit
ATTENTION: You are paying for your friends. Just because you live in a filth trap with twenty-six people who dress and act just like you doesn't mean you're important. It means I'm stepping in pools of beer sludge every three feet and smelling dog poop in the kitchen. If you want to live like a wino, save everyone a little time, grab a cardboard box, some MD 20/20 and piss on yourself. There! Alpha Gamma Epsilon Omega Weapon!

COMPLAINT SEVEN: The School Newspaper Is Crap
You people write like the idiots who are employed by trashpapers like the Morning Call, i.e. like people trying to earn a paycheck before going to a bar and doing twelve shots of Jim Beam. Also, the cartoon looks like it was drawn by someone with Parkinson's - you are not Charles Schultz, you are not subversive and nobody understand you. Stick to doodling the AC/DC logo in the back of your notebooks.

COMPLAINT EIGHT: You are the Fat Chick
Please stop getting in the way of everyone trying to talk to the Hot Chick. Maxim told you this a thousand times, now Matt's telling you. Just focus on graduating in five years, then getting a job, then marrying a banker, then getting lipo. Done.

This is to those who don't do any class work, don't turn in papers on time, don't go to class and get better grades than me: I don't know who you have incriminating photos of (or what's in that mind of yours), but gimme gimme gimme a clue. Please?

Stop trying to fuck every 18-year-old in class and pay attention when I tell you I'm present because you keep marking me absent. Oh, and please remind me of this if I ever become a T.A.

More complaints will follow whenever I dig myself out of this mass of literature that threatens to smother me in my sleep.