Final Post from that Ridiculous History Class

I already posted something just before this class started, but then it began, and things started happening. I couldn't help but post a final blog, if only to include the following discussion that just took place.

So at the beginning of class, people (including the professor) started talking about changing the time of the final: instead of showing up at 7:30 am, we would show up at 8:00 or 8:15 or whatever. The "change talk" began because the prof decided that it would "totally uncool" if people came in late just because they didn't want to wake up early. And then it got stupid ludicrous.

First, people started calling out random times with passion and judicious authority, which meant they were whining and complaining and felt their opinion mattered. Then the prof said we should take a vote, at which point some girl, with all seriousness, said "Not everyone is here, so we can't take a fair vote."

Really? So, she was concerned with a truly egalitarian assessment rather than the fact that since everyone is not here today, which she alluded to with her statement, not everyone would know the time of the final was changed. I mean, honestly, she said that because not everyone is here, we can't take a fair vote, but she didn't think about that same "not everyone" knowing about the change we might make? Good Stephen Colbert, woman, you're in a PHILOSOPHY class.

Anyways, the professor started squinting and thinking really hard, and finally came up with "I just don't know guys. I just don't know if we can figure this out." Brilliant. And this guy wrote an incredible thesis for his doctorate on the interpretations of ancient philosophy and its relevance and importance in today's philosophical debate. No joke.

After another minute of this tomfoolery, we abandoned the cause, as a group, and moved on to the lesson he had planned for today. Now, we have a final Thursday, and he's teaching entirely new material Tuesday. That, more than anything else, sums up the absoludiculocity of this class.

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Birthdays, High School, and Retardation

In what is surely not a coincidence, today is International Disabled Persons Day.

My birthday is, like, now. I’m a year older, and they say you’re supposed to sit back and contemplate these things the more they happen. I’m 21, which is approaching geriatric, so I’ll sit down and pontificate on birthdays and shit.

I’m immediately reminded of high school, which means I’m not far enough removed to forget the Glory Days. And, let’s be honest, if you had been there for my Glory Days, you wouldn’t forget them either. Anyways, birthdays in high school were often many things: stupid, boring, exciting, full of hugs and cookies, wedgies from “friends,” and the occasional shout out in the middle of class by the teacher that you spent too much time with off school premises (whoa!).

My favorite parts about high school birthdays, though, were the reactions from people, who, inevitably, forgot. While everyone was congratulating you on another year survived, inquiring about presents and birthday parties, and wondering when would be a good time to buy you dinner (because they’re too cheap to buy you a present), these people were standing around, sheepishly, trying not to radiate the “I Forgot” aura. They failed, of course.

But what’s interesting about these reactions is that they can be broken down into two distinct groups: Male and Female. Every reaction goes one of two ways, and I’ll give general examples. The actual reaction is in quotes, and the inevitable internal commentary in response is in parentheses.

The Male Reaction:

“Ah, man, I forgot your birthday, bro! Totally sorry, dude, but I’ll make it up to you: you can forget my birthday.”

(Well, at least he understands that other guys, like me, don’t like responsibility. He’s revoking my obligation to remember his birthday because he forgot mine. Good man.)

The Female Reaction:

“Oh, it’s your birthday? I’m so sorry! I totally forgot!”

(Fake sympathy is terrible. Stop it. And, wait, do I even know you?) “Oh, I wish you would have told me!”

(You want me to go around shooting my load about how my birthday is coming up? Yeah, that’s not vain.)

“If you would have told me, I would have made you cookies! Or brownies!”

(Treats don’t make it better, especially not conditional treats that might have been. And you’re offering cookies and brownies? Why not a cake? Oh yeah, because a cake actually takes effort, and it’s meaningful. Cookies are what you do when you forget to make food for the company picnic.)

“Alright, you know what? I’m going to make you cookies tonight, and I’m going to bring them tomorrow. That’s what I’m going to do.”

(Sigh. I hate you. Go die in a ditch somewhere. Ugh! No! Don’t hug me! Gaaaahhhh…)

And that’s the other thing: it’s apparently an acceptable practice in high school to hug everyone on their birthday. People who would never think about touching you, much less coming near you, feel the sudden urge to hug you. It’s all very strange. Girls will come up and say “happy birthday!” and then do one of those Girl Hugs where their body is into it, but their mind is counting to three. Guys try to do some intricate handshake and usually end up Man Hugging you. You know, where you grasp hands and then tightly and awkwardly clap each other on the back for a few seconds until you separate and try not to look into the other guy’s eyes.

Birthdays in high school are very strange. The whole day, the person is bombarded with people hugging them but not meaning it; people hugging them, meaning it, and trying not to show it; and people trying to make up for forgetting.

I suppose this is why we all graduate in four years (unless you’re a dummmmmer!): we can’t stand having another birthday under these circumstances. In college, no one knows, remembers, or cares, and that’s a good thing, because birthdays should be left to friends and family. Who wants strangers and mildly friendly peers wishing you a happy birthday?

Unless of course it’s that girl whose number you’re trying to get. Playfully using her ignorance of your birthday to get her to pay for your next meal (and thus go out with you in public) is a totally cool thing to do.

Now some final, and general, birthday thoughts:

I’ve survived another year and I’m no better for it.

Apparently I can buy alcohol, as if they means something.

My dad’s birthday is also today. When I was born, he lost his job. Interpretation: I was the best birthday present EVER!

December is full of birthdays: Mine, my late Great-Grandmother (2nd), my 7th grade teacher’s daughter (7th), Keith (19th), my uncle (10th), my ex-step-grandparents' next doors neighbor's son (7th), and my other uncle (31st).

A bunch of people have my same birthday (and it is my birthday, not theirs): Ozzy Osbourne, my dad, Warren Jeffs, Julianne Moore, Bucky Lasek, Lindsey Hunter (old NBA player), and Marcus Williams (young NBA player).

Today, in 1929, Herbert Hoover told the Congress that the worst effects of the stock market crash were over. Man, was he a prophet.

So here’s to me: may I survive another year.

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