I wrote this when I should have been doing something else

This post was written entirely in class. It 's 100%, guaranteed, genuine, certified contraband. I did this when I should have been doing something else. You see, in my easiest class (an economics course for general education students I somehow sneaked into), I "take notes" on my computer. When my professor is engrossed in one of his many tangents, I press my favorite shortcut key combination (alt + tab) and work on something else. Last week I wrote a term paper. Tomorrow I plan on Facebooking. Today, I am writing this tome of abject educational rebellion.

Someone, somewhere, estimated that students pay $50-75/lecture for the expensive private education I will pay for when my student loans come due. But like a headstone and life insurance, education is one of the goods we pay for when we don't want to consume it. In fact, if I paid only for the moments in class that I actually pay attention, my education would be so cheap, it could be sent to foreign countries as aid.

I used to doodle and write my funny notes on paper. That was my signature, my trademark. If I were Sitting Bull, that would be my "X." Students who sat next to me would sometimes lean in to get a preview of next week's posts. When the professor turned her back to the class to put something on the board, faces would crowd around my mead pad like surgeons over an operating table. On rare occasions, the surgeons would chuckle or issue forth that "smurphy" noise that generally accompanies partially restrained mirth.

Now I'm much more obvious. Students who take notes on their computers are highly suspect. Teachers are inherently suspicious of generation y-ers, especially those who get their technology on in class. When my bright computer screen attracts neighbors like an outdoor barbecue, my professor gets especially suspicious.

Three times already today, he's looked at me with a suspicious air. I think he suspects something. He looked at me again. I'll just save for publication and get back to class...

That reminds me...

The following is a transcript of the first seven minutes of my upper-division economic theory and research course taught by Professor Dennis O. Doherty (above), a faculty member who has been at the university 35 years. His knowledge about the topic and acumen to discuss economics are unquestioned. His brevity and succinctness are not.

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: I love teaching in this room. The first time I taught a course in this room was in the fall semester of '84. They had just built this building five or so years before after a substantial struggle with the administration to secure funds. The former Department Chair -- actually the chair before him; the one two chairs ago -- felt we should direct our money toward sports -- football specifically. He was a big fan. He thought it would help recruiting. Ironically, after this classroom building was constructed the school did away with the football program, making this the only Division 1A NCAA institution to get rid of a football program in the last century. A real shame, if you ask me.

[DOHERTY PAUSES AND LOOKS AT THE WALL FOR A SECOND, COLLECTING HIS THOUGHTS.]

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: Actually, it would have been the spring of 1984. I remember because they were putting in the East lawn. Looking out this window, it used to be a mess of shrubbery that the science students would burn back with freshly mixed experimental weed killer. It was all very impromptu. The brass opted for aesthetics over academics and installed the sod. Their work was a major interruption. Every class period, it seemed, we'd be bothered by the sound of their travails. I like that word, travails, did you know it's borrowed from the French? Sometimes I think we ought to return it.

[PAUSE]

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: I had cold cereal for breakfast this morning. For years I had a regular breakfast of two eggs and toast. It was the perfect combination, I thought, of carbs and protein and it stuck with me pretty well. I never had any pre-lunch collapse. But my doctor is worried about my dietary cholesterol. Any biology students here? No? Well, the cholesterol you consume in your diet isn't nearly as bad for you as the saturated fat you put in your system. In fact, you can eat a lot of cholesterol and not have a problem as long as the saturated fat is kept to a minimum. But for some reason my doctor is worried about the cholesterol. He wants to put me on a statin drug -- some kind of HMG-CoA reductase inhibitor -- to reduce my risk of heart disease. But I'm concerned about the liver damage. My dad was an alcoholic and died of liver poisoning. Or whatever it's called.

[ANOTHER PAUSE]

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: Take care of your diet. Take care of your health. Life advice...
[ANOTHER PAUSE]

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: Oddly enough, they would use a drywall knife to cut the sod and they had to be careful how they placed it because the irrigation system was pre-installed. This was in the early days of low-evaporation sprinklers, when environmental consciousness was just starting to emerge as a dominant consideration. Nowadays it isn't nearly as much of an operation, but back then it was perceived as very innovative. A drywall knife. How many of you guys have seen a drywall knife? It looks like an oversized putty knife with blades that are almost too dull to justify the name "knife." I wonder why they never developed a tool explicitely for cutting sod. I have a buddy who works in the landscaping business -- he actually does design for upscale and bids out installation projects to subcontractors -- I ought to give him a call and ask about that. He's got a couple of kids, wonder how they're doing...

[PAUSE AS A STUDENT ENTERS AND SHEEPISHLY TAKES A SEAT BY THE DOOR]

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: Miss, you are late. You are fortunate I am so lenient on tardy students. When I was a graduate student at the University of Utah -- that's where all the backslidden Mormons go -- I was tardy for the first day of my statistics methods class. I didn't miss a day all semester and was never again late, but he really drilled me for it in his seminar review. Eugene Billington. That was his name. He specialized in regression analysis of demographics -- a field which is really quite large now, but was just emerging in the 70s. He gave me an A- in his class. I don't think I've ever worked so hard for an A-. I mean, I had classes at the undergraduate level that I just surfed through -- never did the readings, missed class, glossed over the homework -- but not in Billington's statistics methods course. He would grill you for that.

DENNIS O. DOHERTY: So, here's the syllabus...

My Professor is a Genius

Before the Christmas non-denominational winter break, my philosophy professor challenged me, as part of his "Intro to Worldviews" class, to be more aware of the subtle contradictions and inconsistencies of modern philosophies we discussed in class. I filed that challenge away long before finals, and let it sit undisturbed in my gray matter while I stuffed my face with fudge, pie and Christmas cookies.

Fast-forward 2 weeks to Boxing Day. You know, the day after Christmas. My grandma and Aunt Sue celebrate this joyous holiday by elbowing and/or stampeding the people in front of them in line for the super-amazing-day-after-Christmas sales.

I got into an argument with my cousin Devon, a 5th year senior, about who should get to play "Call of Duty 5: World at War" first. It occurred to me that Devon was a moral relativist. We'd had long conversations about the subject in the past, and although I'd tried to point out his misguided thoughts, we never got to an agreement.

At that moment, I had an epiphany. I remembered the charge my professor had given me. I grabbed the game controller out of my cousin's greedy hands and proceeded to start my own game. My cousin's jaw made an interesting thud as it hit the floor. "You… you can’t do that!"

With my best innocent voice, I replied, "Why not?"

"Because," he stammered, "you can’t!"

"Why not?" I was enjoying this too much.

"Because it's… it's…" He seemed to have a lump of confusion and defeat in his throat.

"Wrong?"

"No… because…." He walked away scratching his head. I'd caught him with his own "no right or wrong" trap. With a victorious smirk, I enjoyed the solitude my cousin had left in his wake.

Maybe I should pay more attention in class.

When Censorship is the Best Option

Dear Mom and Dad,

School is really hard this year. My teachers hate me. I have a 300 page book to read by tomorrow, and my 30 page research paper is due on Tuesday. I’d really like to work on them, but my roommate is asking me to watch Ironman again, so I just think the homework will have to wait. I failed my Chem test on Monday, and I skipped class on Thursday to avoid my Humanities exam. I feel like I'm learning a lot, so grades don't really matter, right?

My roommate never bathes. It’s like a third world country in here. But with a lot more clothes and food. In fact, the piles of food and clothing are everywhere. I don’t think my roommate knows where the laundry room is. I’ve started to find flies congregating around the dirty heaps of fabric. If this doesn’t stop soon, I don’t know if I can take it much longer. I think I'll dump a whole bottle of Tide on him tonight in his sleep... maybe he'll get my point. If he doesn't, I'm moving out.

I'm engaged! I don’t think I could have found a nicer person. Her personality is her strongest asset. We’re going out for fast food and a movie tomorrow after her anger management class. I didn't think she'd agree to be my girlfriend after I dumped lasagna in her lap on the first date. I didn't know anyone could yell that loud. I plan on bringing her home for Christmas with me. I thought about surprising you, but...

I wanted to get my nose pierced, but I’ve been having these strange dreams about being stalked by an evil giant magnet, so I don’t think that’s such a great idea.

I'm doing great. I need money. I’ll be home for Christmas.

Love,
Me

Complaint

My biggest mid-term of the year is this afternoon and I have not yet completed my preparation. Time flew by like Al Gore's son in a Prius, leaving my hair pushed back and my brain woefully empty. I tried to get ready - honest I did - but my life has been a big league pitcher, throwing me curve balls with all the strength of his steroid-bulked arm. Obligations too numerous to fully enumerate, but including email, Facebook, phone conversations, movie watching, jetpack and, yes, females took too much of my heavily appreciated time and left my exam study sheet as blank as the stare I gave my mother when she asked yesterday whether or not I was ready.

I may be a derelict. I may be a lazy derelict. I may even be a lazy derelict with bad hair, but I do have gumption. (As a side note, I considered starting my collegiate entrance essay with the last three sentences but settled instead for "Being an underprivileged minority youth is never easy, but when it is compounded by abandonment, addiction and abuse - the three As of my childhood - it can be the death knell for academic achievement, the two As of my future." In a related story, I got accepted to every school I applied. I'll post the entire essay sometime for all you aspiring derelicts.) So where was I? Ah, yes, gumption. It took a little psyching to prepare myself, but I marched directly into my professor's office yesterday and laid down my pathetic case in the hopes of finding some sympathy.

Dr. Monarch, as my female instructor is aptly titled, was not interested in the sordid details of my personal life or the scheduling conflicts that landed me in the undesirable position of begging for mercy before sitting for the exam. Her lack of interest notwithstanding, Dr. Monarch did nothing to halt my remonstrations and even laughed occasionally, a gesture I interpreted as encouragement. On I plowed, through three minutes of memorized material and two of improvised verbal gymnastics.

I talked about my Spring allergies and the ill effect the wind was having on my general disposition. I drew attention to my dislike for particular breakfast cereals and established a link between Kashi Go Lean and indigestion. I talked about the Laker's game earlier in the week and how disappointed I was that the number one team in the Western conference had to clinch its seed at my team's expense. I even described a small sore that had cropped up between my big and second toes and how distracting little abrasions like that could be when trying to focus on something as arcane as macroeconomics.

In retrospect, I spent more time preparing my case for leniency than I did studying for the test. But I consoled myself knowing that an hour of writing and considering a grade defense was well spent when it precipitated a poor performance, because I would have a poor performance. If I could inoculate my evaluator to my inability to draw a Cartesian plain with straight lines (much less calculate an IS or LM curve) , she might think twice before smashing through my responses with red ink. Regardless, I might be able to make a friend in this lonely world.

When my verbal flow ceased, a silence so loud it could be packaged as the rebellion music of the next generation filled the room. Dr. Monarch cleared her throat, an action that was less productive than it was discouraging.

"Young man," she began, using a title that generations of males recognize as the prelude to a rebuke, "I have been teaching at the college level more years than you have been alive and yet I have never heard such locution. Have you considered developing that presentation for a politician? You would have to remove the bit about your big toe, but it might work otherwise. The style sounds vaguely like something I heard from John Edwards once (or fifty times). Anyway, kudos for that. The biggest mistake you made was a temporal one. You presented your spiel before taking the mid-term - a mid-term you might very well ace - now the only thing your words will motivate me to do is examine your answers more carefully. Congratulations. My advice to you is to go get a menthol lozenge and a good night's rest. And try to remember that the IS curve is downward sloping."

I was rejected like a basketball in the air against Hakeem Olajuwon. I was in the third row and heavily discombobulated. But I had made my case, said my piece and recorded my complaint. Now all I have to do is take the test. The test I haven't finished studying for...

Aye Pee

"She can't write on the blackboard. For the life of me, I don't understand how you can get into teaching with such atrocious and illegible markermanship." I wasn't really frustrated with my teacher's writing, but students start conversations by complaining. So I was complaining. Class was in a few minutes and something had to be said that would keep us from standing around awkwardly like social misfits with rich parents.

"Powerpoint. That's the life saver of the modern teacher. And its 'markerwomanship,' as long as we are making up terms." My comrade was Konrad (note that I resisted the temptation to spell "comrade" with a K), an international studies major who somehow wound up in French.

"Well, why doesn't she use a computer presentation then? Why insist on the illegible scribbles?"

"Funny you should say that, I had a teacher in my high school Aye Pee honors chemistry once who did something just like that. This was a class for promising seniors with stellar GPAs and PSAT scores, but I took it my junior year because I met all the prerequisites and my principle wanted to find something challenging for me. Anyway, my teacher did the same thing." Konrad threw out this statement as if he'd said it a thousand times before. He was perfectly comfortable recounting his educational resume.

The acronyms left me spinning, not to mention the academic achievements that I am positive are necessary to qualify for a class like that. This kid was a real genius. A little insecure to be flouting his prowess so easily, but a first rate prodigy.

"Congratulations," I said after I'd sorted out GPA and PSAT.

"On the teacher?" Konrad was genuinely confused. Had his compliment bait slipped his mind so easily?

"Your AP class. That's impressive."

"Oh, my Aye Pee class?" Konrad beamed with pride. His question was a rebaiting of the compliment rod. I wasn't going to bite.

"Yeah." I kept my face straight and turned toward the door as if our conversation was over. An awkward pause followed in which Konrad, unwilling to move the conversation from the threshold of praise, waited expectantly for whatever bone I could throw in his direction. I had none to offer. Our impasse ended when another student showed up.

"Hey guys!"

"Morning Melissa." Konrad and I had an unintended harmony as we answered the newcomer.

"You would not believe my history teacher this morning. He droned on and on about Marian Jones like it's going to be on the test. In fact, he was almost as bad as my high school Aye Pee teacher. He would grab every tangent possible and run with it. I almost got a four because of his antics. Almost." Melanie Melissa made sure we didn't come away with a misinterpretation of her academic abilities.

Konrad felt the need to clarify.

"Aye Pee history, eh? Did you take 20th or 19th century? Because I had to pick 20th to make time for an honors lit class." Konrad had the look of a lawyer in open court. Slick, smooth and sly.

"Both." Melanie Melissa shrugged as if her accomplishment was nothing. "And I did honors lit, too."

In class, the teacher explained a difficult grammar concept that we students struggled mightily to understand. Queen, a girl with a disposition to match her name, piped up:

"My Aye Pee French teacher explained to my honors class that the direct object pronoun follows the indirect object pronoun in the 'Est-ce que' form." Queen's manner was defiant; she trusted her AP high school teacher more than her college instructor.

Our professor should have said something smart like "Well, your AP teacher is lucky to still have a job" or "You want to know the French word for where people like that end up after they die?" Instead our teacher kindly suggested that maybe Queen was not remembering her old instructor accurately. Despite the professor's gentle put down, Queen got her message across: I took AP French!

Incidentally, I didn't take AP French. But, boy, I would be such a better speaker and writer now if I had just taken that extra course. In my inadequacy, I feel so left out, so incomplete. I have nothing to bring to the bragging table and am completely outshined by these academic overachievers. I feel inferior. But deep down, in that place where the truth doesn't lie and the esophagus is the next door neighbor, I know I'll never be as good as my peers. And I am at peace with that reality.