Ah, Start of the Fresh Semester...

How you smell like stink-ass motherf-ing manure--let us only hope you nurture the growth of all that is planted in you.

Wow. That sounded way nicer than I feel at the moment.

So yeah. Am I about to kill someone soon? Yes.

Will it be you? No.

Will it be the administration at my school? Uh, fuck yeah.

Apparently things are going haywire in the Land of Massage Therapy.

Last Tuesday I got a call that our business class had been switched from Tuesday nights, 6-9pm, to Wednesday nights, 7-10pm. Kind of a stupid time since I won't be able to come straight from work, but no major skin off my back.

Friday morning, I got a call that our Monday-night A&P class has been cancelled. Which means I have to take it the only other time offered: 8:30am - 12:30pm on Tuesdays. Which means my work schedule is gonna look silly-ass ridiculous: 6:30am to 8am, 1pm to 8pm on Tuesdays. Which also means my friend R___ (who was also signed up for this night class) is no doubt shitting in his Crocs right now since he had his state-board classes scheduled for--you guessed it--Tuesday morning/afternoon.

And then today I emailed some woman in financial aid for about the 15th time to find out about a tuition-waiver in the amount of $700 I was told about when I first toured the school--one which students receive if they maintain a certain grade-point average through (I believe) the fourth semester of their second year.

The response:

"I don't recollect us having anything like that, though perhaps I could be wrong. Do you have any paperwork about it from when you were given that information?"

Um, no.

"Yeah, I really don't think we offer anything like that."

Apparently the administration at my school is the equivalent of my sheister mechanics at Midas:

"We have to replace your tie-rod."

Um, I just had it replaced less than a year ago.

"Really? Which one?"

The left front one.

"Oh, yeah. Uh, this is the right front one."

Uh huh. And my left nipple's name is Robert.

Today, I hate muscles.

I also hate the fact that this upcoming weekend is my gratuitously-long Myo seminar: 6-10pm Friday, 9am-6pm Saturday and Sunday. And I have two exams that I'll need to try to find study-time for in the sparse handful of hours that I'm not *AT* the seminar.

WTF do they think this is--school or something?!?!

Added salt to the wounds: I got a Netflix subscription as a gift and also the 2nd season of The Office, both of which keep sitting there, batting their eyelashes at me, and I HAVE NO TIME TO BEND THEM OVER AND SCREW THE SHIT OUTTA THEM.

Unfair.

Raptors and Dali

Sometimes classes are just so surreal that they are worthy of their own Dali painting, spattered with ants and really long stretched-out boobs.

Last night was one of those.

My anatomy class is not getting any better. It still feels like it's being taught by someone who picked up the textbook about 30 minutes before class and has no clue WTF is going on.

Frequent quotes: "What page is that on? Does anyone know?" and "Yeah, I'm not really sure whether you need to know that or not."

Awesome.

Last night topped it all though. I managed to get stuck in just *RIDICULOUS* amounts of traffic. Probably the most I've seen in years. End result: I was 30 minutes late for class. When I got there, only two students had shown up, one of which gave me the most "Thank you god, I was about to start crying from the thought of having to endure two hours of this with only one other person as buffer" look I've ever seen. Thirty minutes late and apparently they hadn't even started.

Commence the lecture, which (as always) consists of our instructor bumbling around in the book, reading stuff directly from it (but somehow still managing to read it incorrectly so that she's accidentally teaching us the wrong things), and pointing at various diagrams in the book because apparently it is too much trouble to make overheads and apparently we are back in preschool with "One fish, two fish," our instructor reading and then showing us pictures and then reading and then showing us pictures.

As I near my breaking point, I try to distract myself from the furious anger whelling up inside me. I notice that the weird girl in class who sits without shoes or socks on in the middle of winter and who asks 1800-thousand questions constantly is sans shoes again. Our instructor comes over to show us a picture of something that she thinks we might need to know, but then again, maybe not. She is pointing at the picture in our textbook, and Weird Girl cocks her head back and gazes at it through the bottom of her eyes with her mouth wide open, inhaling and exhaling and inhaling and exhaling through it with a rattle that (accompanied with her awkwardly tall and skinny body) sounds startlingly like a raptor from Jurassic part, so much so that I prepare to start running and hide in some cabinet when she finally leaps up on the desks and starts hunting us. She clicks and rattles through her mouth until I am about ready to scream and rip off my scrubs and run around the room laughing maniacally because it is just so creepy and gross and somehow symbolic of how this class makes me feel itchy and insane and then, peace be to jesus, the class ends.

But not before this little gem:

HER: "Well, we didn't get to the blood-vessel stuff. So maybe I can just go over that next week right before the exam for you all?"
ME: "So will it BE on the exam then?"
HER: "Well, yes. I mean, if that's ok with everyone."
ME: "WTF, you motherf-ing ho-bag?!?! Seriously?!?! You're gonna go over it the DAY OF the exam and then test us on it five minutes later??? That's quality learning. Oh yes." ('Cept I didn't actually say that. I just thought it really really loud. While thinking about raptors.)

Why God Why

So apparently they switched up our instructors and, though I still have the Bane of My Existence for Phys on Tuesday nights, I now have THE WORLD'S WORST INSTRUCTOR EVER for Monday nights (thank god it's only for two hours).

I take that back--the Oscar for World's Worst Instructor Ever still belongs to my late great Ethics instructor (who I believe has since been fired). (Shockingly, she even beat out stiff competition from some of my high school instructors, one of which was 100% Grade-A crazy and would scream at us whenever we walked past the windows because she had a fear that we would fall out. And yet still, my Ethics instructor won by a landslide. That's some grade-a quality shittiness. But anyways...)

Now, I know I bitch a lot about many of my instructors at school, but I will readily admit that even the ones that bring me angst (like the Bane of My Existence, or the bitch I had my second semester whose shared dislike for one another neither of us even attempts to hide anymore) have taught me fairly well. Some better than others, of course. But I've learned (or at least been primed) well in their classes.

But this woman, o woe, peoples. I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt since it's the first week and I have a sneaking suspicion that they hired her last minute and threw her into this class with nary a word or explanation of how/what she should be teaching. But nonetheless--dear god.

I mean, she forgot the fricking syllabus/coursepack on the first day. I can't even tell you how many nightmares I've literally had in the last 8 years or so where I've forgotten to bring the syllabus to class on the first day--even after I was no longer teaching anymore, I *STILL* continued to have nervous nightmares about it. It's sorta like showing up to class and suddenly realizing you have no pants on. And even moreso in our A&P classes because basically the whole course hinges upon the coursepack as it's an outline of everything that we will be going over in class. And yet, she completely forgot to bring it.

The woman also takes about an hour to explain something that should easily take no more than 10 minutes to discuss. And then after doing so, she *REVIEWS* it. And by "reviewing" it, I mean that she literally repeats everything that she just said, just at a faster speed, and slightly less coherently.

She also is one of those people who reads directly out of the book for most of the lecture. And holy mother of god does this irritate me because why the hell should I drive all the way out there if I could sit down at home and teach this shit to myself? At least liven things up a bit. And know what the hell pages the material is on so that your fricking STUDENTS don't have to be the ones telling you every time you harriedly blurt "I can't figure out what page that is on."

And KNOW WHAT YOU'RE FRICKING TALKING ABOUT. This is my final point of contention--every A&P instructor I've had is able to talk about what they are teaching off the top of their heads. They are able to answer questions without looking the answers up. Occasionally one of them might be wrong, but then they correct themselves later.

This woman seems to have NO CLUE WHATSOEVER.

Every informative piece of her lecture has the cliffhanging quality of a really bad detective novel. "And the ligament that connects atlas to the axis is the... *DUH DUH DUH* (dramatic pause as she flips through pages to find the answer) the ATLANTO-AXIAL LIGAMENT!" Another mystery solved by the great Sherlock Holmes.

Pah.

So I'm gonna try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Try try try. But I know it's not just me--after one hour of last night's class, one of the other students told us first thing on break that he was switching to the day class. After only an hour of her lecture.

All I can say is PLEASE DEAR GOD LET IT JUST BE THAT IT'S HER FIRST WEEK OF CLASS, because if the pacing and animatedness she brings to the classroom doesn't improve at least (and if she doesn't stop reading directly out of the book the whole time), I am gonna have a very hard time staying awake and/or not stabbing myself in the eardrum out of boredom.

If nothing else, I guess the past year has made me realize that being a really good instructor isn't as easy as it looks, that it really *DOES* take mad talent to be good at teaching. So think about that a bit, and next time you bump into some instructor or another that really changed your life or whose class you absolutely adored and learned tons from, thank them. And maybe, just maybe, dry hump them a little in appreciation.

This, This, and This

I haven't written much lately on this blog. Shame on me.

But last week was mega-stressful. And next week's forecast is the same, seeing as it's finals-week.

(Please, dear eye, no twitching next week, k?)

But here is some stuff you should know:

1. I cannot wait to be done with my current A&P instructor. Please, whoever is listening, lemme have someone good next semester. And not the guy who does the powerpoint presentations at 500 mph. Thank you.

2. I heard that the anatomy instructor I had last semester (the one I had a crush on and dubbed The Bane of My Existence?) is in fact a big softie underneath all his lame macho talk. Thank god--I was starting to think my Asshole-Radar was broken.

3. I'm actually gonna really miss my Wednesday night massage classes this semester--they are weirdly centering, and when my week's stressful, they are kinda like a warm fuzzy blanket I can pull up to my chin, warming me up and letting me feel snuggly and comforted.

4. Did you know you can get staples put into your ear on your weight-related reflexology point and it'll help you lose weight? True story.

5. I hate muscles.

6. I spent $25 on flashcards in the hope that I'll learn to love muscles.

7. My Massage II instructor is a really touch-oriented person (like me); last week, when I was asking him a question about our quiz, he stood so close to me that his arm and thigh were pressed against mine, partially, I think, because he has trouble hearing out of one ear--probably explains my smittenness (the touchy-feeliness, not the hard-of-hearingness).

8. I've gotten requests from two different people to set up regular massage-appointments with them. I must get a table already. *Sigh* Until then, if you want me to practice on you (which'll typically require you sprawling out on my bed), gimme a holler. I could use the added practice. (You must book me three weeks in advance for a happy ending though--just be forewarned, my kind of happy endings involve me shouting HURRAY, smiling, and throwing confetti into the air while in the distance, lovers run across a beach into each others' arms.)

9. The body still fascinates me. (Even though I hate muscles.)

Perhaps One of My Biggest Pet Peeves

My anatomy instructor last night during class:

"There's nothing that makes me more angry than when I hear about someone hurting a child or hurting an animal. If I ever saw you doing one of these things, I would *mess you up*."

Five minutes later (with absolutely no sense of irony):

"Oh my god, a really nice, tender pork chop is *the best*. Oh, and ham. OH MY GOD. To die for." (This continues on for about 10 minutes. Yet again. During the middle of class.)

I'm sorry, if you eat meat, do not even say to me that you give a shit about animals and their well-being. Because you do not. If you did, if you truly felt compassion for them, you'd make that connection, and you wouldn't eat meat. And I can't think of anything more deserving of a big, juicy wad of spit in the face than some stupid asshole pining about how much they love and care about animals and then skittering off to their meat-laden breakfast, lunch, and dinner.


----------
*Yes, venomous anger. But I'm allowed it once in a while, goddammit.

All-Consuming Bitterness and a Desire to Rip Someone in Half from Limb to Limb

Thank god we only have two more anatomy and physiology classes before the end of the semester. Thank godly god about that.

Because right now, it's taking all my will-power not to pin down my A&P instructor and rip her lips and nose and eyebrows off with my teeth, like some voracious zombie.

It's not irritating enough that she's an obnoxious, irritating, rambling bitch most of the time, but now she also is sucking the teat of favoritism.

All semester we've been getting reminded again and again and again to take out our facial jewelry so that she doesn't get in trouble if someone walks by the classroom and sees someone out of dress code.

Fine.

But all semester, two students in the front row have been nonchalantly donning t-shirts without a word of complaint from her, despite the scrub-top policy. Wanna know why? One of them is the son of some higher-up guy at the school. The other is a girl she works with at her office practice every day.

To quote Dane Cook, this makes me wanna punch babies.

And to top it off, last night, M____, who sits in the back row with me, took off her scrub top about 20 minutes before the end of class and was sitting there in a t-shirt. And *AS SOON AS* she took it off, our instructor immediately zoned in on her and was like, "M______, have you been wearing that t-shirt all class? Do you have your scrub top with you?" This was met with some really disgusted moans in the back row, as we'd JUST been bitching about her obvious and obnoxious favoritism.

Her response to the moans was, "What? Are there *other* people disobeying the dress code in this room or something?"

Mind you, these two assholes are sitting *RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER*. Like literally, two feet away from her. In the first set of desks. Right in her line of view. If she moved too quickly, she could knock one of them out with a boob or some belly-flab, they're that close. And yet she *PEERED AROUND THE MOTHERF-ING ROOM* with a sailor's hand above her brow, as though she was seeking out deviants with as much energy as she could muster. And then, sudden epiphany, she noticed and noted the t-shirt of the son of the president (or whomever the fuck he is) and said, "Is that a t-shirt you're wearing there, J____? Do you have your scrubs top with you?" He pulled out his scrubs top and showed that he'd brought it. And then she had the nerve to say to the class, "See, he *HAS* his scrub top." To which most of us in the back row moaned with disgust again as she'd not demanded he put it on, as she demands dress-code adherence from everyone else. To which *SHE* responded by rolling her eyes and saying to him, "Looks like they want you to actually put the scrubs top *ON*, J_____." And yet, the rest of the class, he sat with his big bushy hair in his shitty pseudo-vintage t-shirt.

The only thing keeping my rage from burning out of control like a wild-fire is that most of us in the back row are planning on wearing t-shirts to class next week. And the nose ring stays, my bitches.

And if I hear one word out of her mouth about it, she's gonna find herself missing some important organs next week. *GRAWRRRWRWRRRR*

Best Massage Therapist *EVER*

I absolutely love being back in school. I will happily admit that I am a nerd, and I love to learn. That's essentially what it comes down to.

But being back in school also reminds me of what it was like to be in high school. And college. And grad school. It's effectively flashed me back to feeling like a social reject again.

Don't get me wrong... I have friends at school. I like the people I frequently talk to there, the people I hang out with, the people I've had almost every class with. There's a lot of good folks there. But then, there's The Others. The ones who reinforce how very very odd I am, sometimes by doing nothing more than existing. Which both delights and bothers me.

I'm used to being a misfit. Believe me. I mean, I've had years and years and years to get used to it. I know that I have 101 viewpoints that completely go against the norms of the average American, and I'm reminded of that on a fairly regular basis by folks. And thankfully, the folks who I'm sure consider me a weirdo are the folks I have absolutely nothing in common with, who I'd never seek out as friends, who I have no interest in getting to know really. So it's not that it bothers me because I want them to like me. I think, essentially, it just bothers me because I just hate being reminded with clarity and frequency what a social reject I am. I can deal with being reminded of this at work because, well, I'd *prefer* not to fit in there. But now that I am doing school as well, my social awkwardness is unavoidable and super-magnified. I feel like I have a big giant weirdo-alarm wailing when I walk by people. Or like I'm walking around in a cute little baby-doll t-shirt that says I FUCKED YOUR TWO-YEAR OLD.

And some days the whole vegan thing sure as shit doesn't help.

Like yesterday, for example. In physiology, we spent part of the class discussing organic compounds, one of which is proteins. Our instructor of course gave an example of meat-eating as how we get our proteins--someone in class blurted, "Also broccoli too!" Our instructor nodded and said, "Yes, you're right. And tofu as well, if any of you are vegetarian or vegan..." And, I kid you not, a girl in my class responded to this comment by shouting, "She is!" super-loud and pointing at me. In the middle of class. No shit. Shouted and pointed. Given the oddness of her blurting this out unprovoked, I wouldn't've been surprised if someone else had shouted right after, "Get her!" and then everyone had started running towards me with torches and started setting my castle on fire to smoke me out.

Fine though. Whatever. Vegan = freak. I know. I'm over it.

Of course my instructor asked the typical questions: How do you get your protein? Don't you miss cheese? etc. etc. To which I gave my usual responses.

Cue the obligatory Speed-esque representation of stereotypical meat-eating responses:

"I don't eat that much meat myself anymore really."

"Ew, C______! Don't talk about that! I like meat and would like to continue liking meat!"

"You totally shouldn't eat foie gras because they torture ducks for that stuff! But mmm, I sure like me some veal."

Fart fart toot toot.

But later, a girl in class randomly bursts out, laughing, "I have the funniest story! The other day my boyfriend and I were driving and he hit a cow! And the cow was, like, pregnant and stuff! There were like 60 cows or something that had gotten loose, and we hit the one. And then these guys came, and they like hoisted the cow up with one of those CAT construction crane things, and then they slit it's throat right in front of us! Like RIGHT IN FRONT OF US! *laughing some more* And then they asked if we wanted to come back with them and help them butcher it--ha ha ha!" She said all this while half-smirking in my direction.

Thankfully, I don't think I was the only one that was horrified that she actually found such a thing to be so extremely *funny* of all things. A handful of other people in the class also looked like someone had inserted an anal-probe up their ass and shocked them with it, which restored my faith in humanity at least a tiny smidgen (though not much).

But how fucking *disturbing* is it to hear someone actually *laughing* about a pregnant animal being treated so brutally... and RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER FOR HER TO WATCH? I'm not talking the-world-should-be-vegan-fluffy-bunnies-and-flowers-and-ponies-and-rainbows-and-i-heart-the-world disturbing. I'm moreso just talking WHO-THE-HELL-FINDS-THAT-FUNNY?-NOT-EVEN-MOST-CARNIVORES-THANKFULLY! disturbing.

I mean, seriously--Jeffrey Dahmer, if you were still alive, I think we might've found your animal-torturing soul-mate.

It seriously seriously chills me to my very core lately to hear people speak like this.

And the even more fucked up thing is that I HEAR THAT KINDA SHIT ALL THE TIME. It's why more often than not, I steer as far away from the topic of my veganism when it comes to conversation. Because somehow, for some reason, these are the kinds of things that people like to respond with.

And you know what--more often than not it's not the actual meat-eating that disturbs me quite so much, it's the horrifying ways in which people so flippantly and jokingly and coldly speak of the death and suffering involved with it, as though it's the fucking funniest joke ever. It is cold-hearted and brutal, and seriously, as of late, it is starting to completely f- up my view of the world and make me think of people as horribly horribly ugly beings.

I can't even tell you what a hard time I've been having with this lately--and for some reason, the topic of animal-suffering seems to come up a hundred times more frequently in random conversation than it ever has before. The sad thing is, I really really love people. My heart is warm and goopy when it comes to the love I often feel towards people as a whole--we are fucked up, but I've always found reassurance in the fact that I know, deep-down, most of us are really good people at heart. But lately, I've become royally disenchanted with this view. Lately I've been having a hard-time thinking that people are anything better than ugly fucking shits.

I can understand the meat-eating. I can. Clearly I think that's f-ed up and wrong in its own respect, but I can at least COMPREHEND it. Mostly because it's usually accompanied by a shirking away from the horrible brutality that lurks behind meat, a kind of desperate amnesia--people don't want to know or see where their meat comes from because they *know* it *is* horrific. This willful ignorance (while disturbing and messed up in its own respect) is at least a sort of back-hand acknowledgment that there *is* in fact something fucked up going on in the brutalizing of animals for food. But I cannot understand why someone could find humor, find smirking-goodness, in watching an animal's throat get slit. Or joking about an animal's throat getting slit. Or joking about eating meat and the animals being tortured for it. I *don't* want to understand it. I really and truly don't. I want to have absolutely NOTHING to do with these kinds of people.

It just makes me really really sad.

This is why more often than not as of late, I really just want people to leave me alone, so I can go be a hermit somewhere, pretend that people are beautiful like I used to think, grow my own vegetables, and not speak to anyone EVER AGAIN.

Which is gonna make me the *BEST MASSAGE THERAPIST EVER!* Heh heh. *Sniffle*

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Gah.

I hate my anatomy instructor so much. Mostly because sometimes I *do* in fact wanna jump his bones, and THAT IS JUST F-ING WRONG!

The man has two distinct personas--a sort of Jekyl and Hyde thing, if you will. One side I could just bat my ga-ga-y eyelashes over and swoon and fan my chest about:

He is f-ing brilliant when it comes to anatomy and what he knows about it.

He is damn talented at teaching--he can make clear and cogent sense out of the most complicated thing you've ever tried to understand. Rocket science? Pah. He could explain that in under two minutes.

He gets all nerdly and geeky and excited when he talks about anatomy because he clearly loves it and enjoys teaching it.

He values education and spent 10-minutes yesterday basically lecturing a couple of students who were bitching about a different instructor and telling them that they're not going to learn anything if they only take the classes of the same instructors all the time--that they need to challenge themselves to learn the material through a whole bunch of different techniques and stuff, and that *this* is ultimately how they will learn and that *this* is what is ultimately important, not the grades.

He is a smart-ass and has a quick-wit and biting tongue.

And then there's Mr. Hyde:

His facial expression, his demeanor, his whole persona change as if a switch has been flicked and he goes off on extended ramblings degrading his wife and kids, or discussing how much he enjoyed torturing lab rats or how beating his dog is the only way to train her to be a good dog etc. etc.

I suspect most of this is bluff, that mostly he's just talking big and saying stuff for the shock value.

But it's disturbing to this animal-loving nerd. Mostly because some days I just absolutely adore the rat bastard and other days I find myself hating him *so much* during class that it makes my face burn. And I'm completely incapable of reconciling these two very disparate figures, so it drives me mad and makes me wanna beat myself with a long switch for the moments where I just wanna put my chin on my hands and stare longingly at him.

*Sigh*

Oh, but I did get a 99% in the class. To which I say, Stuff *THAT* in your animal-torturing asshole and smoke it, Mr. Hyde.

It shall most definitely be a mixed blessing if I get stuck with him again next semester.

Sick Some Pussy on the Man

My anatomy instructor is brilliant. He's encouraging and inspiring. And he's damn fricking good at teaching.

So why oh why must he be such a cat-hating, sexist, lame-ass douchebag?

*sigh*

Remember that scene in Indiana Jones where one of his students writes "LOVE YOU" on her eyelids and keeps blinking and winking at him all through class?

I totally wanna do that to my anatomy instructor.

But instead of "LOVE YOU," I wanna write, "Stop talking about torturing cats and I will joyfully tie you up and degrade you."

Unfortunately, I don't think that'd be easy to read from afar.

My Power Animal

Recently, whenever my Anatomy instructor starts rambling about breaking some poor animal's legs in the name of scientific demonstration or some such thing, I've started retreating to my "zen place" by picturing myself in knee-high, pleather, spike-heeled boots and him licking these boots and groveling at my feet while begging me to beat him with my foot-long dominatrix whip and grind my heel into his spine.*

S&M is clearly my power animal.







----------
*If you only knew what he looked like, then you'd probably find this wildly amusing as well.

Rage Rage Rage A-Burnin'

So this is the... 3,858th new blog I've created. No. 3,859th. Something like that.

Apparently I can't just sit still and stick to one.

But, well, I figure that some of you out there are gonna be wondering what the hell is going on in my life, especially with this whole "back to school" thing. And *I* myself could use a space to ramble about my daily misadventures as well, to process shit and, quite frankly, not wanna kill people. And given that I don't *dare* to blog about these things on my normal blog (work-folks read it... work-folks with inordinately huge and flappy lips who I'd rather know NOTHING about my daily adventures), I figure it may be necessary for me to splinter off into a tiny side-blog instead.

So here it is.

Yesterday was my first day of class. Physiology and anatomy. If this is what the rest of the school is gonna be like, I am fucked. And I suspect it may be. *sigh*

Here I'm expecting holistic, earthy, natural vibes emanating from the halls and classrooms, people who want to give back some sort of peace to other people, a healing, who want to offer this up to the well-being of those they come in contact with. This is what I'm there for--to sink my teeth into something more holistic, some more natural way to reorient a body that's off-kilter, to learn how to infuse myself and others with a reestablished state of zen-nosity (if you will) within the flesh-shells they trek around in daily.

I am a dumb hippie.

Instead of all this, I get our instructor.

Our instructor is a shorter man, muscular, with a whip of thinning whitish-blond hair cut into a crewcut on his head. He looks like pretty much any jock in my high school, dropped smack into the blustery waters of middle-age, his shirt sleeves bunched up tightly around his biceps, just to give the ladies a bit of a peek at his sumpin' sumpin'. He's originally from Brooklyn and thinks he's got a biting wit like no other. I like him initially--he barks at us and bosses at us and jokes around a bit. But then...

STRIKE ONE

A student opens the door to our room and then embarassedly asks, "Is this the American Lit class?" He cackles heartily at her and says, "Hell no." Once the door closes, he engages in a lengthy rant about what a waste of time English classes are, that he's a "Science Man" and always has been. He reminisces about an English class he once had where he had to read that... that... "J. Alfred Prufrock poem... What's it called?" he asks us. A tumbleweed rolls by. Some crickets chirp off in the distance. A greasy white shmear of a pall falls over the room. Were the sun to bleed red, a swarm of locusts to burst forth from the lockers, the four horsemen to knock on the door and ask, "Excuse me, but is this the American Lit class?" I would be little surprised at this point because--dare I inform you of this?--*no one* has a clue what he's talking about except for me. This is the first time I think I've ever been in a situation where no one's heard of poor J. Alfred and it feels like I've walked straight into the apocalypse. Especially since I love J. Alfred. But I keep my mouth shut.

He goes on to rant about how in Lit classes, there's never just a right answer. How he needs black and white, true or false, choice a) or choice b) and not all this wishy washy bullshit of gray areas where there's never a straight answer to things.

I want to stand up and shout, "But that's life, you dumb fuck." But I don't.

This is what has always bothered me about the over-all attitude amongst those in the sciences--they always always always seem to look down upon the arts as fluff, as unnecessary, as "frivolous." Not so much the other way around--what Lit person is gonna say, Yeah, you know, uh, learning about biology so you can save lives is just, uh, stupid. And yet, science folks never seem to mince words when it comes to the pointlessness of Lit folks. It's as though Science and Literature are stand-ins, symbols perhaps, for two different philosophical camps, two very different kinds of attitudes about life. Science folks seem to grasp desperately to the notion that there always is an answer--that it's either a) or b), true or false, and that things can be pinned down like that simply and easily. Perhaps they actually believe it is that simple. Or perhaps they are just trying desperately to convince themselves of such. Lit folks, not so much. I think we tend to realize that things *aren't* that simple, that things are fucked up and complicated and can't be pinned down with straight answers. That yeah, maybe the answer is false, but what does that mean? And again, isn't false sometimes also true? And what does this have to do with the bigger scheme of things?

That seems to me to be a major reason why most writers write--they're trying to make sense of this fucked up thing called life. And making sense of it doesn't entail picking choice a) or choice b) and leaving it at that.

Stupid scientists!

But I just roll my eyes and figure, oh well. To be expected. It'll be ok. At this point, I'm moreso just irritated by his lack of professionalism--by dissing on Lit classes, he's also basically undercutting and making fun of the other instructors at this institution, and to me, that's unprofessional. But then...

STRIKE TWO

Captain Science is running down the rules of the classroom and starts to shout about making up quizzes and tests. He looks us in the eye and says, "If your cell phone goes off in the middle of a quiz, that's it. You get a big fat zero. I will sit up here and grade your test with a big fat grin on my face, hoping that you in fact scored 100%, and then I will hand it back to you with that grade on top and smile as I tell you you got a zero. And I will go home and sleep like a baby. Trust me. I'm not gonna lose sleep over you guys and your grades. I could run over your dog and go home and sleep like a baby. I'd just get up, toss him on your lawn, and seconds later, not even remember or care." There are a couple uncomfortable titters from the class and a couple mildly-shocked and disgusted moans. He seems to enjoy this, continuing to prance around, waggling his dick some more for our amusement. I play it off with another roll of the eye.

But then, once the actual lecture on physiology and anatomy starts again, I find myself hard-pressed to continue playing things off. His examples, played up supposedly for our amusement though they receive no laughter, all have to do with torturing people's pets. While trying to explain to us what homeostasis is (when your body is up and running correctly and everything's in sync and at optimal condition), his example is "To see what I mean, go and feed that neighbor's cat some mercury. Then give them some water. Watch that thing react to what's in it's system, howling, lurching around, squirming. It ain't gonna be alive for long folks. That cat's system is *not* in a state of homeostasis."

My face is burning red. I wanna leap over this desk and snap his femur in half, just like he demonstrated to us on the anatomy skeleton just minutes before. In fact, I wanna snap it in half using that cheap plastic femur like nunchuks or something. And then I want to feed him and his children a nice big batch of mercury pancakes. But he lucks out because it's 8 o'clock and time for us to be dismissed. I drive home at 70+ mph, wondering how long it will be before I get on his bad-side and alienate myself from the rest of the students by opening up my big fat fucking mouth and ripping him a new one.

At home finally, I love the shit outta my mercury-free cats and sit down to read the new issue of Bitch magazine and think of fucking people up and think of starting this blog so I don't destroy myself dealing with these classes and everything else and think of making it nauseatingly pink like a nice bottle of Peptobismol because I am a chick and chicks dig pink and Massage Practical starts Wednesday and FUCK these classes better improve.