Spring Jail Break

Spring Break!  Woohoo!  As much as I love my students I’ve been looking forward to shooing them out of the classroom and onto the beaches into the arms of Girls Gone Wild.  That our Spring Break is a full month after almost every other university’s bacchanal means that their only competition in those lovely rites of Spring called the “drink until you puke” and the “Mom, can you send some money? I’m in a Tijuana jail” (not that I speak from first-hand experience) are retirees, nursing home residents, and fugitives fighting extradition. 

I’m a little worried about them though.  Not in the world is a dangerous place type of worried, but more along the lines of what-the-hell-are-you-thinking?!? type worried.  I worry about their judgment and their ability to make decisions tougher than paper or plastic.  It’s not due to mental capability — these are some smart kids — but from their moral compass.  Their directional needles pointing to right and wrong are broken, or at the very least bear a strong resemblance to a corkscrew. 

Throughout the semester we have used various characters to discuss questions of accountability, justice, and morality.  Is Jack from The Shining accountable for his behavior when he’s drunk?  Is Robert Neville’s brand of justice in I Am Legend acceptable?  What is our obligation to ourselves and society when faced with a zombie invasion?  You didn’t think horror literature could be so ethically entrenched did you?  So we can clear the air and move on go ahead and admit that, when I told you that I taught horror literature, you thought it was a fluff course.  Anyway, in discussing our class readings, I always give my students scenarios somehow related to the ones faced by the characters in our readings. I try to make them circumstances that they might actually encounter and ask how they would handle the situation.  In doing so, I have learned waaay too much about my students.  Namely, that they are thieves, but loyal.  You don’t want to give them the key to your house but you definitely want them on your side should you decide to go on a mass murder spree.  Let me explain.

In one of the scenarios we discussed this week, I asked them what they would do if they found a wallet containing a drivers license, credit cards, and twenty dollars.  They all said they would return the wallet.  Awww!  My heart felt good.  But then most of them — MOST — said that they would take the twenty dollars before returning the wallet.  What?  Is there a service charge on being a good Samaritan these days?  Now, I try not to pass judgment on my students but this called for a carefully crafted question and answer session that would gently lead them to the conclusion that taking the twenty dollars is WRONG!  This is how it went:

Me:  The wallet contains a drivers license and even a work ID.  You know where the person lives and works.  You can Google their contact information.  Do you still take the twenty dollars?

Thieves #1-25:  Yes.  Of course!

Me (sputtering uselessly):  But that’s, that’s stealing!!

Thief #1:  They shouldn’t have lost their wallet.

Thief #2:  If I go through the trouble of returning their wallet, I should get a reward.

Me:  Shouldn’t that be up to the person whose money you just stole?

Thief #1:  They should be glad they’re getting their wallet back.

Me:  And you wouldn’t be all red-faced to hand them their wallet with twenty dollars missing.

Thieves #1-25:  No!  No way!

Angelic student:  I would return the wallet and the money, Prof. Dingo.

Me (making sure my wallet is securely in my purse and strapped to my wrist):  Thank you, Angelic Student.  I’m glad someone here has a conscience.

Thieves #1-25:  Booo!  Booo! 

We went on to discuss when and where they drew the line at stealing and it simply got more disheartening.  I will save you having to read the transcript but I do advise that you not keep any money in your wallets.  Your bank and credit cards are safe.  Your cash is not.  Oh, if you have a Starbucks Card, kiss that good-bye.  It’s as good as cash.  See!  It even says so on the back.

If that’s not bad enough, apparently you stand by your friends through thick, thin, and anti-social behavior.  As we concluded our discussion of Jekyll and Hyde yesterday and analyzed Hyde’s uncontrollable forays into evil and depravity, we talked about accountability.  Sigh.  I don’t even know where to begin.  Maybe I should avoid all explanations and just issue warnings like this:  Run for your lives!!  Apparently this generation (OMG, I’m channeling my Mom) lacks a sense of accountability.  Blame it on drugs or a hangnail; whatever you do from drunk driving to robbing the corner bodega, it’s not your fault.  You don’t even have to assert the devil-made-me-do-it defense.  Just proudly proclaim, “I did it!” making sure to add, “but it wasn’t my fault!” That’s your get-out-of-jail-free card, baby.  And you will probably have a book deal to boot. 

I then drew a very extreme hypothesis in an attempt to start out broad and gradually work our way to something more specific in order to lead them to some sort of balance about their views on accountability. 

Me:  Okay, so you don’t turn your best friend in for stealing even though every weekend she’s robbing 7-11’s at gun point in order to support her meth habit.  What about murder?

Accessory After the Fact (AATF) #1:  No!  You stand by your friend.

Me:  Even for murder?

AATF #1:  Yes, no matter what.

Me:  What if she kills someone every weekend? (yes, sometimes this class goes to very dark and disturbing places).

AATF #2:  Well, if she was doing it all the time then I might go to the police if I couldn’t get her to stop.

Me:  Where do you draw the line?  One?  Two?

AATF #3:  Five.

Me:  Wh--?!  Pglshhk!  FBklish!  (recovering).  Five!  So murders one through four were just gimmees but you draw the line at five.

AATF #4:  Well, by then, you know she’s not going to stop.

AATF #2:  But it’s not her fault because she’s on meth.

Angelic Student:  Prof. Dingo, I would turn her in at one murder!

AATF #1-25:  Booo! Booo!

So these are the people I’m releasing into the wild for Spring Break.  Very little sense of personal accountability and an almost nonexistent sense of social accountability.  Lock your doors.  Carry your mace.  And have a great weekend!

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I CNT RITE - 4 REALZ

I’m amazed, just amazed, at what passes for writing at the university level these days. I am so sick of reading bad papers.  I think my eyes are bleeding.  I can understand that, as freshmen, my students have not yet developed critical reading and writing skills.  To not have mastered basic sentence construction, however, is unforgivable. How, how, how did these kids get into college?  Is my Institution of Higher Learning so desperate for tuition that we take anyone who can string together, “The dog ran after the ball,” in her writing sample?  Because, really, so many of my students have not advanced past that level.  Although it may just be my age showing, please tell me when it became acceptable to write an entire paper in LolCats?  Should I look the other way when I receive an email like the following?

Hi Prof.,

HRU?*
WH5 U HV HRS?

OOH,

Student

There is only one response to such an inquiry,

WTF?


Who is at fault for this crapola?  According the faculty member who gave me my review today (it went splendidly, thank you), most of our students are from New York City public schools.  Really.  That’s what he said.  Most of our students are from New York City public schools.  End.  Stop.  Period.  This, to him, was a wholly satisfactory explanation for their crappy papers.  When pressed, he did give me a more detailed explanation.  The finality and resignation with which he made this announcement prepared me for a rationalization involving some sort of Emerald Nuts shenanigans.  You know, something like the Swiss Family Robinson or the Addicted to Love Girls descending at 3:00pm to steal the young, vital brains of NYC youth.  But no, his explanation was far more bizarre. 

He claims that the reason I receive incoherent papers that make Dr. Seuss look like Dr. Zhivago is because NYC schools are overwhelmed, overworked, and understaffed.  There isn’t enough feedback on writing assignments and English homework to teach students the correct way to write a sentence, form a thesis statement, or write a conclusion.  So, the students are passed along to the next level without mastering basic skills.  To this, I say, Bullshit.  To the teachers who don’t do their jobs. Bullshit.  To parents that are not involved in their child’s learning.  Bullshit.  To the students who accept mediocrity, hell, less than mediocrity, when it comes to their education.  Bullshit.  To the schools that are letting us down.  Bullshit.  To all this, I say, “Here’s a big, steaming pile of doo-doo!”

IMO,

WOMBAT.

Oh well.  IGTR.

L8R,

Dingo


Translation:

HRU? = How are you?
WH5 U HV HRS? = When are your office hours?
OOH = Out of here
WTF? = Oh, come on, you know what this means.
IMO = In my opinion
WOMBAT = Waste of money, brains, and time
IGTR = I got to run
L8R = Later

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The Difference Between Undead and Un-Dead

I loved law school.  I loved words and reading and problem solving.  I loved all the things about law school that have nothing to do with the reality of practicing law at major New York City law firms.  The legal industry is like a whole-body root canal: it leaves your carcass and brain intact while extracting your soul.  Without anesthetic!  It’s zombification without the awkward amble.  If you’ve ever been in the conference room of an expensive, oh-so-purposefully intimidating conference room staring down opposing counsel across the wide expanse of a shiny mahogany table during a deposition, you know what I mean.  You can’t hear your own heart beat over the clickety-clack of the court reporter.  The floor-to-ceiling glass windows reveal an incredible view of a New York City that you never get to see during daylight hours, while the light filtering film prevents real sunlight from reaching your face.  And you realize, and you wonder how you didn’t realize this before: if it weren’t for the mold growing under your refrigerator you would have no life at all.

So I left the law.  I decided that I would rather teach about the undead than be one.  Now I teach horror fiction to undergraduates.  Every day is different.  Every class is different; each student with her own unique perspective on the issues we discuss and how it relates to her life.  And unlike being in court where everything you say has been scripted and planned in advance, I sometimes find myself at a loss for words.  This morning was one of those times:

Prof. Dingo:  Okay, team number 5, what five things — and five things only — would your team want if you were suddenly thrust into the middle of a horror movie?  And why?

Team leader:  Water.

Prof. Dingo:  Water?  Um, holy water?

Team leader:  No, just water.  We thought we’d get all dirty and smelly running from the monsters.

Prof. Dingo:  Okaaaay…..what else would you want?

Team leader:  Soap.

Prof. Dingo:  What would you do with —

Team Leader:  So we could wash up with the water.

Prof. Dingo:  Um, I don’t think you quite understood the point of this exercise —

Team leader (she’s really getting excited):  An electric car, matches, and a CHAINSAW!!

Prof. Dingo:  A chainsaw!  That’s good! But you already have five things what about gas for the chainsaw?

Team leader:  It needs gas?

Note to self:  You do not want to depend on these people in an emergency! 

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Mo’ Confused

I’m supposed to meet with my thesis advisor in a few hours, but with the snow falling outside and predictions of sleet I’m desperately hoping that school is cancelled and we have to reschedule.  Thirty-something years old and I’m conjuring up the Snow Gods from junior high.  The incantation goes something like this, “Please, please, please, please, please, and I won’t ask for anything ever again!”

In the last week I’ve read three novels, two articles, and numerous academic texts on my subject.  I am sure that given Murphy’s Law of Students (you know, the one that determines that you will be asked a question based on the one thing you did not study) I will be asked to discuss a word I encountered only tangentially in my texts:  Möbius.

I had to look it up a gabajillion times to make sure I understood what the word meant but only the good Lord and Mr. Möbius can figure out how it applies to 18th century Gothic literature. This morning I decided that if I couldn’t discuss it with any coherency it would behoove me to, at the very least, know how to pronounce it correctly.  “Möbius,” for those of you dying to know, is pronounced mɶ-bee-uh s . 

Now there, wasn’t that helpful?  Yes, I thought so.

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