Dumb fucks
In class I get extremely bored. So bored that I fill pages and pages with doodles, lists, notes to friends, and anything else I can think of that is unrelated to the subject. If my teachers just gave me lots of work the whole class time, I would be fine. But instead they’d rather let discussions happen. I’m not quite sure why I’m paying lots of money to get lectured by my classmates, but as long as I get that degree I guess I don’t care too much.
My classmates are not intelligent. I don’t claim to Super Mensawoman or anything, but at least I keep my mouth shut. The only thing worse than a dumbfuck is a dumbfuck who likes the sound of his or her own voice. So I constantly hear or read things like this:
“They might not be privy to tell you” (I think he meant ‘apt’ instead of ‘privy’)
“subtle” (with no silent ‘B’. Seriously)
“Behooves” instead of “belittles”
“Poignant” instead of “pertinent”
“Simultaneously” instead of “interchangeably”
“uprage” (combination of uproar and outraged)
“dynamix” instead of “dymanic”
“libary”
“instrincic” instead of “intrinsic”
“white ethnic”
“imbredded”
“confucianistic”
There’s also repeated use of:
“things like that”
“piggybacking”
“bring it to the table”
“from your side of the table”
“long story short” Four times in two paragraphs. WTF do you need to say that you are making a long story short when what you mean is “oh I’m starting to ramble, let me get back to my point”?
And my teacher isn’t the most eloquent puppy in the pound. She says “you know” more than a 16 yr old and she fades at the end of each sentence. Every sentence she utters ends in …
One more year. Almost done. I can do it.
Mrs. Tree said,
August 4, 2009 at 1:18 am
Hang in there. You will make it. Scribbling helps.
schell said,
August 4, 2009 at 11:28 am
That kind of stuff drives me insane too. Maybe some day your doodles, scribbles and notes will be worth a lot of money!
R said,
August 8, 2009 at 11:23 pm
I have worse news. If you decide to go back to a college and teach the RIGHT way, the administration will recoil at your failing to protect the students’ little feelings. My first class of grad school, a professor who is now a good friend asked me a question to which I answered “I don’t know.” His response? “It’s pretty fucking early in your career to be stumped, isn’t it?” Pure gold. Couldn’t do that today. More’s the bloody pity.