I've been meaning to start a blog about my adventures in graduate school for a few weeks now. Actually, since I returned from France. But being the good procrastinator that I am, I had to wait until I was in the throws paper writing with pending deadlines to find the time to start the blog.
Actually, I should give credit where credit is due. The impetus to write tonight is the direct result of the conversation between three 18yr old freshman students which I overheard while eating my lunch this afternoon.
I was sitting in the cafe minding my own business, eating my reheated pasta covered in vast amounts of garlic and olive oil, when without warning...
Sitting at the table next to me were three dolled up young gals loudly discussing a book one had recently read that she had found very profound.
A few moments after I sit down I realize this young lady, we will call her Girl #1, is talking about the book "Ishmeal". She is now describing to her cohorts the end of the book. With tremendous affect comes the following description:
"So then, like, he goes to the circus and stuff, right? So, like, then he goes to the apartment and the monkey is gone. Then he's, like, going through some, like, boxes and stuff and he, like, finds this poster, ok? On one side the poster says, like, 'With man gone is there any hope for monkey?'. And then on the other side it says, like, 'With Monkey gone is there any hope for Man?' So, it's like, if he [the monkey] isn't there to tell him stuff, what's going to happen to the man??"
OK, wait. Did I really just hear that right? So you really think the author is asking the reader "what is the fate of the narrator without the magic talking "monkey" to 'tell him stuff'??"
Ouch. I think I just burst a blood vessel.
Oh wait. Hold your horses, kids. It gets worse.
They go on to compare what they would like to get tattooed to their butts, backs, hips, etc. One of them recounts seeing another girl in her dorm with a tattoo on her back that is a poem, a segment of text, and how she thought that was just the coolest ever. She pulls out a piece of paper saying that she would like to get part of "this" (what is written on the paper) tattooed to her back. They discuss a little longer their various tattoo fantasies and then pack their bags to scurry off to class.
Two get up, one remains a moment longer looking at the paper. The following exchanges ensues:
Girl #1: Yeah, so I would totally want to get like not the whole thing but a part of that as my tattoo.
Girl #2: That's cool. But who this is? I don't know who this is.
Girl #1: You don't know who Nelson Mandela is?
Girl #2: No.. Should I?
Girl #1: OMG. You should just like google him.
Girl #2: Is he important?
Girl #1: Well, so like, he's African American, lives in Africa. And like, he was thrown in prison and like beaten really badly, and then he was released. But like, yeah, he was in prison.
Girl #2: oh. ok.
Ouch! There goes another blood vessel. It might not be evident from my description, but hearing this description I wanted to ask this young lass: "So you think he is African American because he is black and speaks English? Please tell me you do know that Africa is not one of the 50 American states." Jesus, I think I just figured out what is wrong with the world. If the average human uses only 10% of their brain power, these girls were using only 1/3 of that.
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