The Second Day of Christmas Insults My Intelligence

The second thing at Christmas that has insulted me:

Two tacky gifts

These are traditional Christmas pickles, not rotting penises.  (Photo credit for original: Richard Huber)

The First Day of Christmas Insults My Intelligence

The first thing at Christmas that has insulted me:

The kid who wants a large breed

I guess I should be glad that she doesn’t want a boring generic pony.  (Photo credit: Steve Harris)

Blogger’s note: This is (obviously) a 12 part series.  All photos will have new captions in each post, so you’ll miss a lot if you only read day 12.  For all completed posts in this series, click on the “twelve days of Christmas” link below.

Turkey Day Insults My Intelligence

The holiday season has arrived and people in the U.S. will be heading to the malls to shop and shop and shop for all sorts of garbage today.  With that in mind, I think we should all step back and think about what’s really important.

Therefore:

I would like to do my patriotic duty and wish everyone a happy Turkey Day.

This photo came from the CIA, so it must be patriotic.

On this most Turkish of American holidays, I’d like to encourage everyone to take a moment and enjoy a nice tasty doner kebap.

Blogger’s note: If this isn’t what you mean by Turkey Day, call the holiday by its real name so you can remember the day’s real purpose.  On the other hand, I suppose we can all take a moment to be thankful for the availability of doner kebap and other ethnic foods in the US, all being sold together peacefully without obnoxious Black Friday promotions.

It’s the little things that matter.  Happy Turkey Day.

Valentine’s Fundraising Insults My Intelligence

I’ve written about my wealthy Alma Mater’s brilliant fundraising techniques twice before (here and here), but yesterday’s attempt at moneygrabbing takes the cake.  Here’s the email I received.  I’m sure it will warm your heart as much as it did mine:

Subject: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Today is a day for letting others know how much we care about them.  Why not show current students and faculty how much you care about their success through a gift to the University Development Fund.  The University Development Fund supports student and faculty research, scholarships, libraries, and much more.

You can share your love for the university by ensuring it has the resources it needs to continue on its path to excellence.  Make a gift today, we promise it’s better than flowers!

There’s so much wrong with this that I feel the need to just start listing punchlines:

1- If we’re talking Valentine’s Day and showing my love for 18-22 year olds, I can do that.  As a result, you may receive dollars from us in about 19 years if we forget to use a condom.  Since I couldn’t do that when I was a TA, I might not mind making up for lost time.

2- I have no interest in showing the faculty how much I love them in a Valentine’s-inspired way.

3- Why didn’t I think of that?  What woman wouldn’t prefer a donation made in her name as opposed to flowers?  How romantic!  (However, if you know a woman who would prefer a donation to a much less fabulously wealthy organization that does charity work instead, I might like her phone number.  🙂 )

4- The university is on a path to excellence?  Since students are going so far into debt to attend there, I would hope that the university is already providing them with excellence.  If you provided me with something less than excellence, it doesn’t make me love you.

5- I know you’re a research university, but shouldn’t teaching resources figure somewhere in what the Development Fund supports?  Sorry, but the libraries don’t quite count.

6- When I was a student, much was made of Valentine’s Day being V-Day, meaning Vagina Day.  I realize that “Vagina Monologues” performances make a substantial contribution to funding important charities that serve women, but you don’t need to keep the genital-themed discussion going by acting like a [CENSORED].  It’s all in bad taste.

7- I remember how much you spent on landscaping and I wonder how many students could have graduated debt-free if you had gone for a simpler aesthetic.  I can’t imagine how much of the Development Fund goes towards plants.  But then again, university officials would likely cite that old poem:  “Elsewhere I think I’ll never see a school as lovely as a tree.”  I support that environmental sentiment in theory, but in practice your tree looks more like this:

Created by n-rg. The original is at http://n-rg.deviantart.com/art/Money-Tree-74891232

8- Is it really such a good idea to ask for money on the same day so many people are giving such expensive gifts?  However, I might be able to contribute if you’ll accept leftover chocolate.  The grocery store is having a sale.

Valentine’s Day Can’t Insult My Intelligence if There’s Snow

Mother Nature has bewitched us this year.  Her winter storms have been transforming birds into feathery icicles and freeing the sky from bees.  However, her frosty prestidigitations will be enabling the birds and bees on Valentine’s Day.

This image has been modified from the original at http://www.laceyoem.org/winter-storm-warning-has-been-posted-for-our-area/

Most years, Valentine’s Day insults my intelligence.  Women usually want a romantic gift or a vacuum cleaner and I’m no good at picking out either of those.  Fortunately, Mother Nature has eliminated such difficulty from my life this year.

I live in the South.  One inch of snow closes everything down for days, leaving death and distress on highways and anywhere else people dare to travel.  That includes the little side road I live on, which means I can’t drive to fetch roses, candy, or the usual holiday scams.  And delivery people won’t be able to get them to me, unless stuff is sent through the post office.

If the post office can’t handle delivering a book without smashing it up like a piece of glass, those flowers stand no chance unless they’re headed for my salad instead of the vase.

And the horrors keep piling up.  Guys like me love spending time in stores like Victoria’s Secret because we look less creepy when we’re surrounded by women’s undergarments.  If the roads are covered in ice, I guess we’ll just have to buy something leathery or lacy online.

I hope the post office has not yet figured out a way to destroy lingerie, but I’m not holding my breath.

Buying lingerie for a woman has never been less risky because one can’t actually see how big something is until it arrives.  If it’s too big, we can’t possibly think she’s that fat because we bought the same size as what’s in her underwear drawer.  If it’s too small, we can use the same excuse to squirm out of whatever accusations come flying our way.  And because of the snow and ice, we now have an airtight excuse when it inevitably arrives late.

Of course, that means the unfortunate lady will be forced to go without underwear on Valentine’s Day and, on top of that, the storm may have knocked out electricity by then.

No electricity?  No problem!  One romantic BBQ dinner on the gas grill coming right up, minus the obligatory chick flick viewing.

Mother Nature really is just one of the guys…

Power Point Insults My Intelligence

Text version:

Power Point is beautiful.

This Valentine’s Day, don’t just tell her how much you care.

Show her how much you love her with a Power Point Presentation

Power Point makes your bumbling so much easier to understand

Flowers and candy aren’t enough

And the effects of an elaborate Power Point Presentation are always predictable

Before you know it, she’ll be asking you to guide her to bed

Which brings you to your ultimate goal

Unless she has a headache

New Year’s Resolutions Insult My Intelligence

Buy your gym membership today and don’t forget to stock up on protein shakes and other expensive supplements. (Photo credit: trcanje)

New Year’s Day (n): Conveniently situated right after a monthlong sequence of gluttonous holidays, it’s the world’s most lucrative advertising opportunity for gyms, Weight Watchers, diet pills, and exercise equipment.  It happens far enough in advance of Valentine’s Day candy for people to forget how quickly their new year’s resolution dies every year.

Blogger’s note: walking or jogging in the park costs nothing even though fresh air may be hazardous to your health.  The trees won’t judge you if you move slowly…

Emptiness Insults My Intelligence

This holiday season…

If your kids are misbehaving and your relatives are obnoxious and your shopping list just won’t go away, may you be full of the one true important thing:

Vino!

and lots of it…

However, you’ll have to buy the industrial size wine barrels yourself…

Christmas Zombies Insult My Intelligence

‘Tis the season for the same old Christmas greetings, or maybe not….

Twas the night before Zombie Apocalypse,
and all through the house,
not a stanza was rhyming.
The poet’s a louse.

The parents were hung by the chimney with care
(literally, look at the nooses)
So exhausted from shopping, they didn’t much care.
The children were nestled all smug in their beds
They’d killed off their parents and eaten their heads.

So mamma in her ‘kerchief, and dad in a sack
Had just lost their brains to a zombie attack.
When out on the lawn there arose such a moaning,
Kids sprang from their beds to see who was groaning.

Away to the window they flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The blood on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Showed a lustrous buffet of humans below.

When what to their wondering eyes did appear,
But an iron-clad sleigh and eight fearless reindeer.
With a musclebound driver so lively and quick,
They knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
(Sorry about that. People now claim it’s unhealthy for children to admire an obese Santa Claus. This poem needs to be family-friendly.)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of gifts, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, he heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of kids so aloof.

As he drew in his head and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas was tossed with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
Until the warm fire burned it all up to soot.

A bundle of gifts was left in the sleigh
When the zombie kids saw this, they started to say
“His eyes, how they twinkled, these presents, how merry,
We should cook up his brains with a bowlful of jelly.”

The satchel of gifts was drawn up with a bow
And the kids “borrowed” it, I’m sure you all know.
And then on the hearth they found the old guy,
The black smoke, it circled his head all awry.

He’d had a thin face and a fur-covered belly
That looked like a cat’s, not like some mint jelly.
Brains were roasted and crisp, a right jolly treat
The kids laughed when they saw him, they were ready to eat.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
And then after that St. Nick was quite dead.
He spoke not a word, the kids grabbed their forks
And filled up their gullets, “He tastes just like pork!”

And laying their fingers upon all those gifts,
The kids, they did cry… they felt they’d been stiffed.
“I wanted a laptop,” the first kid did whistle
“All that is here is a vacuum called Bissell.”

And I heard him exclaim ere they slept for the night
“Santa Claus is a bitch. These gifts just ain’t right!”

May your children be better behaved this holiday season…

Ingratitude Insults My Intelligence

Some turkeys build their own cages. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thanksgiving is here and it’s time to talk about turkeys.  By turkeys, I mean professors.

Before I do, I’d like to share a tale of gratitude.

Once upon a time in a kingdom far far away there lived a person who could be described as me.  However, I had come from the kingdom commonly known as Here.  In the far away kingdom, college students normally went to Home every weekend, which never proved difficult because few attended school too far from Home.   Having remembered all the fun I’d had on weekends away from (lowercase) home at the University of Here, I couldn’t possibly imagine what could be so enjoyable.  At some level, I still can’t, at least for people that age, but I can appreciate what was going on.

And then I went to graduate school and some of my turkeys, er, I mean professors, had been born and raised in the kingdom of Home.  In spite of that, they migrated Here for graduate school and never went back.  I know of one turkey who reportedly yearned to fly the coop and go back Home (though he never did), while another seemed genuinely depressed to have been working obsessively as her parents sickened and passed from life not too far from Here.  A few others had originated from far flung pastures in lands commonly known as Here, although the cultures in their part of “Here” were a lot different.  I suspect that few of those turkeys would have chosen the Graduate University of Here’s location if they’d had any choice.  (Most turkeys, unlike regular people, can expect to remain trapped in their coop until they die.  Spiritual death doesn’t count.)

And these were the fat and happy turkeys, in theory at least.  Many turkeys end up on food stamps even if they manage to gobble up a college teaching position.  (Here’s a second article.)  Whether they’re fat or malnourished, they spend an exorbitant amount of time on their work separated from friends and family.  And then the women, well, many of them can forget about having children if they’re interested in protecting their often precarious professional existence; at schools in rural Here, these are almost the only women who the tom turkeys get to choose from… so it’s a losing situation for everyone who wants kids and it’s especially unfair to the women.

Of course, those are the lucky couples.  If two prospective turkeys are married before applying for jobs, they can expect to spend years apart until they realize that the desired miracle (the ability to live in the same city and have both partners remain in the profession) will not happen.  I’ve also seen divorces filed because the turkey in the relationship was married to the job and not to the non-turkey spouse.  I doubt it’s all too uncommon.

Needless to say, a lot of these turkeys may not be roasting a turkey on Thanksgiving.  While some can’t afford it and others will find the cannibalism too distasteful, many will be working through the holiday.  As usual.  These turkeys work hours a day at home after business hours and don’t stop when vacation comes.  You’re not done working until you’ve finished reading the whole library and publishing your opinions on each shelf and volume and, by the way, you’re on duty 24/7/365.  It’s like being the president but without the fame, chauffeured car, fancy house, power, money, sense of importance, sense of accomplishment, and horny admirers.  Unless you’re working on a cure for cancer or something useful like that…

A sad turkey (Photo credit: Tomás Fano)

But then there’s the payoff.  In some fields (like mine), the turkey’s long hours accomplish little more than producing books and articles to be read only by a few specialists and then buried in a tomb, er, I mean library, hopefully to be discovered by a student writing a research paper for class.  The occasional book or article might be taught as a required course reading.  Perhaps.  But then, some researchers are lucky if their publications still resemble their ideas once they’ve passed through their editors.  Conformity is key, which is why so many people want to become turkeys.  If you value maintaining some creative freedom, join the military instead.

I’m not joking.

There’s another thing I almost forgot.  As you can surely imagine, many turkeys would take great joy in spending their entire waking hours with solitary reading and writing.  Unfortunately for them, that’s not how their lives work.  You see, Farmer Bob (the guy in the sky who invented the turkey coops) had a revelation: we’ll take these cloistered souls and put them in charge of teaching the young adults.  Outstanding!  These professionals can stand or sit in front of the classroom or hide in the corner and rubber stamp a pile of educational credentials.  Their teaching performance won’t influence whether they get to keep their jobs in many cases, so it doesn’t matter what kind of people become “educators.”

One day, I’ll write a post explaining why I put “educators” in scare quotes.  I understand that it’s unfair to the turkeys who really teach and who properly train their graduate students to teach.  I was lucky to find myself under the wing of turkeys like that.

These turkeys are our intellectual leaders and they are living their dream, and they remain convinced of that no matter how miserable they become.    As you can probably tell, I didn’t stick around after completing the Ph.D. and, every Thanksgiving since then, I’ve been incredibly thankful for that decision.  The turkeys can’t understand it but then again domesticated turkeys aren’t that bright.

Of course, finding a different job hasn’t worked out yet.  I nevertheless have food, a roof over my head, opportunities to improve my resume, and the chance to avoid Siberia or other impossible living environments.  My writing has improved now that I’m not burdened with bottomless research requirements and my eyes no longer glaze over at the thought of reading for pleasure.  And, perhaps not so surprisingly, unemployment is less stressful than graduate school, which isn’t to say I’m not eager for work or money.  I’m ready to move forward but I can’t complain about where I’m at; there’s hope for the future and that’s already more than what so many turkeys have (even though they have jobs).

And so this Thanksgiving I think of the people I know who are divorcing, or are sick or dying, or are trapped in a Siberian turkey coop, or are unemployed with children to feed, and so on.  My life is comparatively easy and that’s something to be thankful for.

It was time to put a fork in it. (Photo credit: J. Yung)

And although Thanksgiving isn’t here yet, I’d like to mention Christmas for a moment; if the malls can get away with it, so can I.  I have two wishes for Christmas that are less realistic than asking Santa for world peace.  First, I wish certain relatives could understand that being a professor is no way to live your life (again, unless you’re working on a cure for cancer or something useful like that) and that, no, I don’t want to reconsider my decision to leave academe in light of being unemployed for so long.  Being a professor isn’t a job; it’s a lifestyle.  Starving to death on the street would be more life-affirming. Besides which, there are ways to contribute to a household besides earning a paycheck.  For starters, ask any stay-at-home parent or caretaker of elderly relatives.  Second, I wish employers understood that refugees from academe had legitimate reasons to leave and that there is no lure of a (ha!) high-paying academic sinecure when we “inevitably” get “bored” with a prospective job.

In closing, I would like to wish my U.S. readers a happy Thanksgiving.  To my non-U.S. readers, I would suggest that turkey is very tasty slathered with gravy and accompanied by a side of pie.  Since this isn’t a porn blog, I mean the birds, not the professors.  Most professors are a little too bitter or stale, at least in my experience.