More Poetry for You

In my current state, I offer things I hate. And because that sounds cynical by itself, I give it to you in poetry format. That way, it's bleeding art, not griping (as with all poetry--take THAT poetry; how do you like me now?)


The Great Hater (with apologies to Rupert Brooke)

These have I hated:
The singing voices of children
(Don't judge me, it grates the ear drums)
Ambiguities in requests
The audacity of undergraduates
Entitled punks who think their time is more valuable than mine
Line butters
Uncertainty
Snow
Driving
People who think the blinker is a fun option
Any change besides furniture layout
Surprises that aren't presents for me
The color pink
Oh how I loathe pink
"I know you're super busy, but..."
That dancing game when trying to pass a stranger
but you both try to go the same way
several times.
Academia's thievery of Spring Breaks
Women who are taller than I am
Just washing my hands and then being faced
with the obligation of a handshake
with someone who may have challenged hygiene habits
Small dogs
"I had the craziest dream last night,
let me tell you about it in detail"
"Let me tell...you...this important...thing...
Sorry...I'm distracted...by this....mundane...task..."
GRAD SCHOOL
Hollywood
Poetry
But before my list gets too long,
For the sake of my soul:
I like kittens, candy, green grapes, alliterations,
Christian, when people think I'm funny,
Being right, piano, fan-damily, boots,
Teaching, finishing something, graduating,
Graduating, graduating, leisure time,
Assassin's Creed 2,Left 4 Dead 2, drawing,
The color green, wind, rain, possibly YOU.


The end.

Perhaps poetry isn't the route I should take...

Just a little poetry for you

Is anyone ACTUALLY interested in how family structure affects labor market outcomes??? I mean, why do these people spend the time to write such horrifically dull articles? Surely that means someone is interested in the topic, right? But who? What kind of sicko likes that stuff? ESPECIALLY enough to devote their entire careers to it??! Why am I reading it?! What am I doing here?! It's sucking the life out of me..as well as the cookies I just ate.. and I ate a lot of them..

Ok, this is the last post on school, I promise...if that's good for anything. Who wants to read other people's griping about their schedules and their sucky majors.. I'm just perplexed. And vomitrocious.

So, to smooth things over with you, I offer my poem: Ode to 7th grade poetry

Brains
Squish
Versus skull
Cavity.
It's complex.
It's perplex.
It's a 4-plex.
Where discrimination is allowed
Under Fair Housing.
Stop it.
No housing.
What a lousy
Way to die.

The end.

Stellar, am I right?

What in the heck is construct validity??

Can someone please tell me? I really don't know. I have basically no idea. And you may be wondering, how is Sam doing in her research methods class? I don't want to talk about it. But it's all cool, because I made that fateful deal with myself that if I'm going to do grad school, I'm not allowed to obsess or work on Sundays. Sunday is working out...but not knowing what construct validity is...well...that's like a little miniature Freddy Kruger clawing around my innards...must...under...stand...And yeah, go ahead, look it up. You'll be more ignorant than before you started.
Sigh.
I wonder if there's a spectrum of sanity...or if you're just sane or insane.... What's really depressing is that what I just said reminds me of a continuous variable versus a categorical variable...
Sigh again.
Whatever the case, we'll see what's left of said sanity when this circus is over.
Oh and here. Let me just frustrate you with this chart that nothing to do with anything.

Man Baby

Alright. Perhaps smaller, more frequent posts. One of those things that I MAKE time for, even though zero exists. Speaking of that, it's pretty annoying when other people are always complaining about how little time they have...and I do that...a lot...So I'll try to stop. Maybe that will magically give me more time. Mmmm...time.

So the thought of the week: I don't ever want to see an adult male do an accurate infant impression again. Not ever again. So if you think you have a pretty good one up your sleeve, keep it to yourself, okay? I can't handle any more.

Post for the sake of a post

Post. Stay tuned for when I'm not horrendously busy. I'm not dead and my cynical musings have not dissipated.

In the meantime, for your viewing pleasure: David Bowie in Labyrinth!

The Tragic Tale of the New Clock

After months of tardiness and frustration, I finally decided to spring for a new clock to hang in the bathroom. It was a day like any other day as I perused the isles at Smith's. Happening upon the clock section, I noticed a clock sale. My lucky, yet ever-fateful day.
This clock was too showy. That one too bland. This one said, “Greetings, I'll pay you to be my friend.” That one just screamed, “Listen, the time is now 7 o'clock and where are you? Here at home. In your pajamas. Why aren't you out painting the town? Why are you here? Why don't you have an exciting life like me? I'm fun and sassy, so what are you?” I don't need an arrogant clock asking insolent questions of me. After an icy glare, I moved on. And there. There he was. Sensible. Neutral between masculine and feminine. A smooth charcoal black. A celebration of time and beauty. And on sale for a reasonable $7.99. I lovingly embraced my new friend and took him home with love and understanding.
I fed him his first meal: two double-A Duracells. I taught him the correct time and then lovingly hung him prominently on the bathroom wall. That evening I caught myself glancing at his smiling face and grinning fondly as he informed me of the time.
It was a magically blissful evening. Me. Chris. And Clock. A new little family. But, little did I know, painfully jagged tragedy was soon to strike. My precious, sensible clock was never meant to make it past 5 a.m.
I awoke the next morning quite unaware of anything amiss. I headed to the bathroom to put my contacts in. I confidently looked to my new friend to tell me how quickly I needed to accomplish the task, but what's this? It couldn't possibly be 4:43. With a quick gasp, I inspected the situation more carefully. Oh, the agony. Oh, the despair. In the early mists of morning, my sweet, sensible clock's life had been cruelly snuffed out. I found his body that morning, hanging from my wall, his hands still twitching in his final death throes. Resuscitation was futile. Besides, clocks don't breathe. The timing, and irony of that timing, and the irony of time itself was unbearable. Out of respect, I covered his lifeless face with a towel.
After this fateful day of loss, sorrow, grief, and misery, I have never, nor will never, be the same again. The bitterness and cynicism you see me exhibit today are the remnants of tragic loss that will never heal.

Don't read this. Just another rant about academia..

Academia: evil, pointless, ill-run, mismanaged, abominable, abhorred, hoop-jumping nonsense.
A is for abomination.
C is for catastrophe.
A is for abhorred.
D is for damnation.
E is for evil.
M is for metastasizing cancer/murder.
I is for influenza.
A is for, again, abomination.

What's got me broiled enough to write this scathing acrostic? Here's a little anecdote about my particular institution of higher education. Except it's not a short, amusing story. It's a long, boring saga. So you probably shouldn't even read it. It will just make me feel better to word vomit. I'll try to spice it up with flowery adjectives to make it more palatable to any readers, the sad facts remaining solid and disgustingly true. (Also, some of my drawings, to add that pinch of oregano)

It was a blustering, flurry-filled day up here in the arctic tundra of Logan. I rolled out of bed like any other day--unsuspecting, naive, perhaps even optimistic. By the time I had reached my classroom on campus, the devil was beating his wife, supporting my suspicions that Mother Nature had a traumatic childhood that triggered her dormant schizophrenia gene passed down from her own unbalanced mother.

After a fun-filled morning of mutual funds, consumer legislation, and “moff-moff-moff-ing” with my professors, I made my way to the computer lab to continue my research on Utah House Bill 144. I handed my student ID to the armed computer guard (armed with a fake smile and a Snickers bar, of course) and politely said “thank you” before I was even granted access. Suddenly, the card scanner started beeping frantically. The guard stifled its screaming and looked up at me for an explanation. I rounded my eyes and said nothing.

“Do you have any fees you haven't paid?” she asked snidely.
“Not a chance” I chortled.
She stared at me like she'd heard this kind of denial before. “Alright, well go ahead, but you should go to the USU Card office to see what the problem is.”
What a kind computer guard.

So, I finished my business and walked briskly all the way across campus to the student center. I climbed the stairs, weaved through the throngs of people at the job fair, and made my way into the famed USU Card Office. A gangly boy, who looked to be about thirteen, asked how he could help me.

“Well, I tried to access a computer lab and my card exploded. They said I might have a fee.”
He took the card from me, ran it through his computer, and handed it back to me saying that there was indeed a fee. I asked him what it was for, as there was no way I could have any fees. He shrugged and said he didn't know, that I'd need to ask the registrars office.

Still in a mildly pleasant mood, I skipped off to the other side of the building. I waited briefly in line, got to the lady behind the desk who told me this was the wrong line, waited briefly in another line, and told my story again. This time, I received a shiny print out of my fees.

“Well,” the clerk said brightly, “it looks like your scholarship has been taken away.”
I smiled warmly and said, “What was that?”
“Right here, it looks like your scholarship that covered tuition has been removed. So, you owe us, let's see, yes, $2,192.97.” She smiled happily again, proud that she'd gotten to the bottom of this conundrum.
“I see. Thank you. I'll just scamper on down to the financial aid office then and see why they would do such a silly thing, mm-kay?”

So, I was off to the scholarship office downstairs, just a tad concerned by this news. I waited in line again. I told my story again, now with this new little morsel of information. The clerk pulled up her computer screen, doubting that “the computer” was the “stupid one.” She clicked and typed for a good while, finally mumbling, “Well...it looks like you still meet all the requirements...” I smiled sweetly. Now, who's the stupid one again?

She asked me to wait another minute, that she'd go get her supervisor. Wait, wait, wait. Tap, tap, tap my foot. Set my heavy bag down. Take off my coat. Ah. There she is. Ms. Supervisor walks up and starts click click clicking away on the same computer. Wait, wait, wait.

“Ok.” Finally. “It looks like you're being charged graduate tuition. That voids your scholarship.”

Ah. Ok, great. “I see. Well...I'm still an undergrad. I did just get accepted to graduate school, but that won't be until this Fall.”

“Ok, well I'm not really sure what to do about that.”

“Mmmm...K. Well...I'm still an undergrad...so...this is just a mistake right? I should still receive my scholarship?”

“You know, I don't know. You could try asking the admissions office...”

Alrighty, so I'm off to another office. I explain the story again, adding yet another little tidbit of good news. Clerk doesn't know what to do. She goes and gets her supervisor. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Supervisor comes over.
“Yeah...you should probably go ask the registrars office...”

Great. Ok, I climbed the stair again. Waited in line again. Explained my story to yet another person. She goes and asks her supervisor who also doesn't know. They think that maybe the graduate office might know. Ok, so which graduate office, there are like four. Um, she's not sure...and her internet is down, so, she's pretty sure it's the one in Old Main.

So I'm off again, walking across the quad. I make it to the creepy, old, haunted Old Main building and get stuck behind three people, entirely oblivious to someone behind them as they jam up the whole hallway. [At this point, I've changed the tense of my story, if you've noticed, for dramatic effect.] I make it to the graduate office and explain my story yet again. She's fumbles around on her computer screen for a good ten minutes before she admits that she'll have to go ask her superior.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. I take my coat off again. I take out the homework that I should have been working on hours ago before this fiasco. Wait. Wait. Wait.

After about a half an hour, she comes back.
“Well, it turns out that the registrars office is really the only one that can deal with this.”
I blink slowly and stare incredulously at her. I should mention, that through all of this, I have remained politely pleasant to all of the incompetents I've interacted with. I find that in situations like these, it's no use to be rude; it will only take longer.

Ah, I'm in luck. She says, “But, we called over there, and they don't know what to do.” Oh, good. “So, here's a list of two names to call who might know more. For now, I would just wait for a couple days to see if it gets worked out.” By itself...

I thanked her politely, called Christian to complain, and went to go catch the bus that I'd missed three times during all of this.

SO, what have we learned, besides that academia is an evil, pointless, ill-run, mismanaged, abominable, abhorred, hoop-jumping piece of nonsense? If we're going to get all of these budget cuts and lose over 600 jobs at USU, I might have a few suggestions as to who we could let go of first. OR, we could combine several offices and several jobs into one! A splendid idea. When students don't have to run around campus wasting hours of time explaining their stories 18 times all because of a computer error that had nothing to do with ANYTHING and was not their fault at all---when they don't have to do this, it makes for happier students. Happier students means tuition-paying students. Tuition-paying students means more money for academia to continue on its mission to provide beautiful campus fountains (that don't teach anything, mind you, but their aesthetic value is priceless) and new lampposts to the youth of America. It's a win-win-win.