>>> Casual Misanthropy
By staff writer JD Rebello
January 18, 2006
So most of you won’t be heading back from We Hate the Jews Cuz Christmas Rules Break (my alternative to all this Christmukkahish) until about January 20.
Me? I’ve been in class since last Monday.
Now, we won’t get into what a royal ass-screw Northeastern University is, how the tuition is way way too high, how the administration gets all uppity about a teensy tiny little piece I wrote in the school paper about how I hate homeless people (an affair I’ll get into in much, much greater detail after I graduate), or even what a shitass hockey team we have (let’s just say a tie against Merrimack was the highlight of the season). We won’t get into any of that. You never know what department heads are reading.
“Whenever a professor starts off with, ‘But first, a little about myself…' get fucking comfortable. Professors by nature are horribly self-centered people.”
Anyway, class started for me last Monday, and I’ve got to tell you, after five years of this nonsense, enough is enough. By now I have certain expectations—nay demands, about professors and what goes into the latest 65-minute suckfest that I’ll be paying for until I have to spend $40 extra dollars per week at the market for supplies to maintain my feces.
The first day of class is a vital day for a student. You learn which professors you’d bang and which professors you’d kind of like to see set ablaze. Some of the finer points of the first day of classes:
1. The Syllabus
Ahh, the syllabus. The Led Zeppelin-played-backwards to your psychotic serial rapist. The syllabus is the foundation for your semester, detailing the next twelve weeks of your life. Of course, the professors always fuck up the syllabus, prompting them to drop this bomb on the first day, “Oh shit, I forgot we don’t have class on Martin Luther King Day. Oh that stupid nig— oops!” (By the way, it’s not racist because I’m doing an impression of a professor, and I’m not implying any professors here at the lovely Northeastern University are racist. See? This is what happens when you write a column alongside your attorney.)
2. The Let’s Meet Everyone
Oh my goodness, I don’t care. Professors love this horseshit. “Everyone say your name, your major, where you’re from, and a fun fact about yourself.” When I hear this, I withdraw faster than a heroin addict after seeing Trainspotting. Listen, I don’t give a shit about anyone in the class. I don’t need their names or majors because I’m doing what everyone else is doing: assigning nicknames to the rest of the class. You have…
–The Chick with the Nice Boobs.
–The Fat Fuck who sits all alone in the front corner of the room in complete silence for two months, then says something kind of funny so for the rest of the fucking term he’s Lewis Black.
–The Annoying Girl who inexplicably shows up at an 8 a.m. wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, and perfect hair and makeup. And holding a fucking coffee.
–The Asian Guy with the Stupid Hair.
–The Black Chick who’s going to make it a point to tell everyone all semester long how black she is. Her name, by the way, is almost certainly Ebony.
–The Gay Dude.
–The Straight Dude who sits next to Gay Dude and discusses, I don’t know, fashion everyday and is pretty obviously on the fence.
–The Quiet Kid who wears the same hoodie everyday (that’s me, by the way).
–The Girl who immediately switches to summer clothes the second it tops 55 degrees. (I’m not against this, just pointing her out).
–The Kiss-Ass Chick who shows up to class early and talks to the professor.
–The Tonal Anomaly Guy with the freakishly deep voice.
I’ve got more, but it’s getting late.
3. The Professor Who Talks About Him/Herself
Aye Papi. Whenever a professor starts off with, “But first, a little about myself…” get fucking comfortable. Professors by nature are horribly self-centered people (except for the professors currently teaching my dumb ass who may be reading this and can directly affect my GPA, y’all is alright!). But you know, I don’t care. I don’t want to hear your life story. Sheeeeeeit, if they made a movie called “Justin” starring Jimmy Fallon, I probably wouldn’t go. And by the way, if Jimmy Fallon ever ends up playing me in a movie, please beat me to death with plastic utensils.
4. Horseshit Attendance Policies
Oh man, maybe this is just Northeastern, but seriously do you have classes that give you only a limited amount of absences? I have two right now that will fail me if I miss more than three. And I’m already missing one tomorrow so I can stay up late and write this. I didn’t have a column last week, so I owe my loyal readers (thanks Billy Blanks, Tae Bo forever!) that much.
But still, for Christ’s sake, this is college. I’ll show up when I damn well please. Aww, afraid nobody will come listen to you lecture? Make the shit entertaining and interesting and I’ll show up. Provided I’m not hungover or in my Madden playoffs or particularly horny or particularly hungry or particularly both.
5. Oral Presentations
Let’s start a movement. Next time you take a class and the professor says you will be doing an oral presentation and uses words, “You will have the opportunity to teach the class…” go up to the front of the room and kick the prof right in her shin. I think if enough people do this, we can successfully remove oral presentations from higher education permanently. First off, why should I have to teach the class? Isn’t that what I’m paying you for? Isn’t this a little like going to McDonalds and the girl behind the counter being all, “Okay, grab an apron and get by the microwave, you make your own fucking Big Mac.”
Second, I hate getting in front of people. I get the shakes. My voice cracks. I’ve got all the sincerity of Pat Robertson doing a cameo in Brokeback Mountain.
6. Anybody Who Makes Me Take Notes
Listen, it’s the first day. All I want is a, “Sup? I’m your prof. Here’s your syllabus. Get the fuck out.”
I should be a professor. I could teach ass-whompin’.