Category: No Politics Friday

Actual student email:

"I looked over the comments on my research paper and there's no way this is a D. It's at least an A-."

After reading this six or seven times to ensure proper comprehension, I started channeling Joe Pesci from Raging Bull; where do you get the balls to ask me a question like that? We all like to idealize ourselves as undergraduates.
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Even if we think we were lazy, arrogant slobs we prefer to recall ourselves as smart lazy, arrogant slobs. Regardless of how trite it sounds, though, I have to say that there is no conceivable universe in which I would ever have said this to a professor when I was a student.
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What planet are these people from? Where have God and man gone astray in guiding these wayward youth?

After about a dozen draft responses, all of which I wisely deleted, I finally responded that when the University allows me to choose my own salary I will let students choose their own grades.
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Under the circumstances I feel like anything short of a right hook to the kidney and a knee to the groin counts as a measured, appropriate response.
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This commercial blew my mind. Unfortunately I can't find a video, so the website will have to do.

Bali Concealers. It is a line of brassieres. "The first and only bras," in fact, "with revolutionary concealing petals for complete modesty." The commercial prominently features this phrase and initially I had no earthly idea what Petals are or how they promote Modesty. Then, after numerous close-ups of breasts (or, if you prefer the proper medical term, "knockers") under thin, satiny, skin-tight dresses…

Oh. "Modesty." The gee-it's-cold-in-here kind. The party-lights-are-on kind.

It struck me as amazing that this is, like, an actual thing that women have to consider when dressing. My primary goal when dressing is to make sure I don't leave the house without pants. Even when I have to dress professionally I could do it in the dark. Everything I own matches everything else. I have black shoes, brown shoes, and a belt matching each. And I never, ever have to worry about "modesty."

I've long believed that, rampant societal misogyny aside, being female is a pretty sweet deal. This commercial changed everything. I only wish I had thought of this simple, brilliant "invention" myself, as the Bali Corp. is no doubt going to make garbage bags of money on it. My ad campaign would be far classier, though.

Ginandtacos Modesty Bra: when you absolutely, positively can't have your nips pokin' out.^tm

This premise is flawed.

Glenn Beck is bringing his summer comedy stage tour to movie theaters nationwideso that no matter where you live, you can join!

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Bring your family and take a trip to your local movie theater this summer (complete with comfy seats and air conditioning) to examine common sense, which is no longer common!

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Glenn spares no one, including politicians and celebrities, as he takes a look at the state of our culture and the frightening lack of common sense, especially in Washington. Explore the comedy behind the chaos that has become America. Hear the tales and revisit the wisdom that our grandfathers and forefathers relied on to build America.

I tried very hard to think of something with less potential to be funny.

All I could think of was the Holocaust.

I feel really, really bad for all the young people whose ignorant cracker parents are going to drag them to this and force them to think it's funny – and educational!

Note that Glenn intends to break new ground comedically by refusing to spare "politicians and celebrities" from his rapier wit.

One of the unique challenges to teaching at Indiana University is accomodating the annual ritual of binge drinking and disregard for public urination laws that accompanies the "Little 500" bike race, the event immortalized in the film Breaking Away. It combines everything an IU undergraduate holds dear: alcohol poisoning, dressing identically to one's bros/sisters at the frat/sorority, and skipping class. I suppose there is some sort of bike race as well, but that clearly is a tertiary concern.

Because the job of trying to motivate undergraduates through a sixteen week semester is not difficult enough, this event is jammed into the Spring semester one week before finals. To say that all academic activity on campus grinds to a halt for this spectacle is an understatement. In its place is all manner of generalized stupidity just as a normal teacher might be expecting to prepare his or her class for the final exam or set a due date for semester research papers. I mean, why go to class when you can get ballz drunk on Pucker at 9:00 AM? I haven't a good answer for that either, so don't feel bad.

Benefits to the non-undergraduate population of what is modestly advertised as "The World's Greatest College Weekend" include ankle-deep vomit on Jordan Avenue, the inability to get anywhere near campus, and visits from some of the biggest names in entertainment (in the eyes of an 18 year-old, I suppose). I don't want to brag about my town, but if you want to see Soulja Boy and Young Jeezy in rapid succession, this is the place to be right now.

"This is how badly I want to win the Indiana Primary.
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Also, see Young Jeezy."

I must be getting old. I certainly sound like an old man brandishing a rake at kids who encroach upon his lawn. Regardless, there is clearly an age at which this type of spectacle – seven consecutive days of dawn-to-dusk drunkenness – loses its appeal. I know that some adults partake of this type of thing (i.e., Mardi Gras) but I doubt they can handle it physically all day, every day for a full week.
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The body just can't function on Keystone Light and Taco Bell at 7:30 in the morning in the harsh glare of adulthood.
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We need occasional sleep. We need a decent meal at semi-regular intervals. And unfortunately we have things to do. In my case that "thing" is trying to hold the attention of young people and perhaps even teach them something.
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If I sound crochety it results from the fact that the average IU student is not known for his studiousness at any point during the year; institutionalizing a week right before finals during which the campus-wide interest in academics drops to zero feels like fate, nature, and the Higher Power giving us the finger. The University, for its part, is an enabler, all but winking and telling its vast herd of East Coast kids who couldn't get into Penn State "It's OK, we know what you came here for."

Cue loud barfing backed by the righteous, original beats of Soulja Boy.

One could argue that this isn't strictly a No Politics Friday, but I submit that Republic Magazine – THE VOICE OF THE PATRIOT MOVEMENT has leapt several sharks from politics into legitimate comedy. One of my colleagues seized several free copies of it whilst I was photographing teabaggers, and the last time I had this much fun reading a magazine it was 1982, I was wearing He-Man pajamas, and the magazine in question was Highlights. Ironically, the two magazines have many things in common. The primary difference appears to be Highlights' more stringent editorial standards and Republic's lack of Goofus & Gallant.

If this magazine was edited, it was edited by an ad hoc panel of homeless alcoholics. Nestled among advertisements for every single dealer in gold and silver bullion on Earth one finds numerous examples of outstanding writing and editing. In a piece entitled "How to Prosper in these Hard Economic Times" – replete with helpful tips like "1. Cut back on spending" and "4. Change your occupation" – the author suggests that we "move to a different part of the USA which is dong relatively well." As Indiana is dong fine, I am unaffected by this advice.

Mr. Harold Williams ("Surviving Martial Law") prepares us for the complete collapse of society, an event that every issue of the publications throughout THE PATRIOT MOVEMENT has called "imminent" for the last fifty years. He breaks down into distinct stages the transition from normal life to a fascist gulag state. At the beginning, "Since you'll be exposed to controlling troops, please NEVER LOOK IN THEIR EYES!!" That is how they steal your soul. Avoid it. The key to surviving a societal collapse, however, is food hoarding. This is even more important than gold hoarding (note: gold hoarding is still REALLY FUCKIN' IMPORTANT). Since your neighbors are not paranoid smart enough to have hoarded 30 or 40 shipping containers full of dried beans and emergency biscuit rations, they will all want your food. Some of them will want to steal it, but that is OK since you are prepared with a Doom-like arsenal of high powered firearms. The biggest threat to your supply of bomb shelter cuisine is your own kindness.

When you see starving children, it will be natural to want to feed them. STOP. BAD. WRONG. DO NOT FEED THEM. In fact, go to great lengths to conceal the fact that you have food and then beggars won't be an issue. Maintaining secrecy is simple:

Never tell teenagers anything…a sign in front telling the world that you have food will work as well. Do not feed their friends.

In short, "DON'T FEED A KID WHO IS NOT YOUR OWN, NO MATTER WHAT." The magazine (er, "magazine") then gives us an op-ed from Ron Paul, one that reads as though he scrawled it on a Western Bacon Thickburger wrapper while taking a dump in an airplane lavatory. But hey, he's Ron Paul. We recognize that name. He lends "credibility" to this enterprise.

Wrapping things up is a two-page list of "100 Items to Disappear First in a calamity" – with eight additional bonus items "From a Sarajevo War Survivor"!! My favorites: #77 Tang and #100 Goats/Chickens. Not sure why the final two get lumped together as a single item, but I do know that I have a 300 foot tall grain silo full of Tang in rural Idaho so #77 is good to go in Ed's world.

If the survivalist right didn't exist I would have to invent them. That's how much pleasure I derive from them. Note that Republic Magazine offers complete online issues and they'll mail you an old-fashioned paper one if you ask. Dong with that information what you will.

Two things to cheer you up on this Goodliest of Fridays:

1. At an academic conference last week I had the pleasure of conversing with a group of grad students from another institution, one of whom I know barely (from previous conferences) and the remainder of whom were strangers. We played the "What's the worst thing you've ever gotten from an undergrad" game. I recounted my standard tale of the young scholar who handed me a research paper about how presidential candidates "fake the funk." Seriously, I believe the title was "Presidential candidates fake the funk." Lest you remain unclear on the student's position on funk-faking, he informed the reader quite clearly, and I do believe repeatedly, that this phenomenon is "straight bullshit."

I have long considered this to be an excellent, amusing anecdote whenever late-night revelry incorporates this topic. I was one-upped, however. Apparently one of the perks of teaching at an elite institution (the particular Ivy League school isn't important and shall remain nameless) is that one's head-smacking moments with undergrads are of a much higher caliber.

The student in question decided to write a paper about the crucifixion of Jesus. Not a historical analysis, but as an excercise in applying game theoretic concepts.

Apparently the student's argument was that when the preferences and choices of all parties involved (the Romans, the Sanhedrin, the masses, etc) are considered, the Romans' decision to carry out the execution rather than pardon Jesus represented a Nash equilibrium.
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The paper title? "The Nashin' of the Christ."

Perhaps you need to be a political scientist to find this funny, but I laughed until multiple organ failure was imminent. That, my friends, is a good zany-things-undergrads-do anecdote.
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2. This exists. I wonder why Americans are getting fatter.

Also available in a "Jalapeno and Cheese" variant.

What in the hell is wrong with people? I mean, holy shit. Aside from the fact that these are the nutritional equivalent of eating a stick of butter, I must imagine that these taste like cleaning the grill at a Cracker Barrel with your tongue.

Note the cheery ad copy: "(Perfect) Even for breakfast!" People, if you are eating Tennessee Pride Sausage Balls^tm for breakfast, it might be best for everyone involved if you dropped the charade and simply shot yourself. Eating these things regularly is a passive form of suicide. A cry for help. We're here for you. Put down the Sausage Balls^tm and come with us.

Speaking of gun control, The Back-Up might be the perfect gift for the man or woman in your life who is preoccupied with the idea of someday needing to gun down a burglar while in bed. If you're confused, rest assured that it is exactly what it looks like: a rack one slips under the mattress so that a loaded shotgun rests parallel to the bed.

I am currently scouring the internet to find a more poorly conceived product (the website astutely warns that the product is "not designed to prevent accidental discharge" of your shotgun) or one more likely to result in death or disfigurement.
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The FAQ also helpfully notes:

Q: I already have a shotgun handy. Why not keep it where I have it?

A: Because you would have to get up and find it, losing valuable time.
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Well, hard to find fault with that argument.