Sunday, July 02, 2006

I Didn't Share a Bed with Your Sister

One of the courses I had to take as part of my core requirement at college was Interpersonal Communication. It was a bullshit class taught by an incompetent (although nice enough, I suppose) woman. The subject matter seemed to be based largely upon speculation, we got grades like we were still in elementary school (check +, check, check -; I never got a check +), and the whole thing essentially degenerated into weekly group therapy sessions.

We got assigned elementary school-like projects as well, such as summarizing chapters in a group and making posters of our "ideal family home." I don't know if I was even deliberately doing it, I really do think it was largely subconscious (though I was certainly aware that I was enjoying it), but the stuff I would churn out always shat all over her assignments.

For our first piece of homework, we had to write our own eulogy (I've received this basic assignment, with some minor variations, three times, the first in a high school class), although she gave some cop-out option for people who didn't want to, for whatever reason. Everybody wrote this nonsense about their lovely, meaningful life achievements and some of the broads began CRYING. This one girl had overcome cancer and wrote about how she had to handle the assignment differently because she'd already faced death or some such thing. By the end, it was like being in a theater that's screening Steel Magnolias.

Mine was about me living a worthless life, then dying, unemployed, of a heroin overdose in my parents' basement.

She didn't like me at all from this point on, even though she always claimed to encourage creativity in her class. There's a whole species of teachers like this, the ones who want their students to express themselves so long as it's within the limits of what they're comfortable with. I always felt when she said "be creative" that she should've added "but not too creative."

For the group project, I wrote a bunch of sketches (she said we could and no one else in my group had), most of which culminated with two people charging at each other screaming, "I'LL KILL YOU!" Aside from my sketches, we just stood there summarizing the chapter.

The evaluation she wrote said something about how the first bit of the presentation was good but the sketches didn't seem to really help teach the subject matter and all "ended with people screaming 'I'll kill you.'"

We got a B and, from what I gathered from her comment, it was a B, and not an A, solely because of my contribution.

For my dream family home, I drew it in crayon, in a style as though it were done by a five-year old. (I really can't draw much better than that anyway, (my handwriting also happens to look like a five-year old's) so I figured why not just indulge in that?). I drew things on it like bathrooms labeled "POTTY" and drug vending machines (labeled "DRUGZ"). The day we brought these in to present them, she had brought her kids to the class.

I really just put stuff I liked in it and it was supposed to be a family home so she asked me:

"Joe, do any people live in this house with you?"

"No, but there's a series of naked ladies who come over all the time," I said.

I can't honestly say I was upset with doing her homework. I still have my family home drawing hung up in my room.

I was actually taking the class with a friend of mine, who is a moron and an asshole and I really quite hate him and sort of did while I was hanging out with him too, but him and I both reveled in being the jackasses of the class (his eulogy ended with him being president of the world and dying from an overdose of super-viagra). She found him endearing, however. I was just a smartass. And a bit disturbing, I think.

Her overall assessment of me was that I was "wearing an emotional mask" because I was so unable to share my feelings with the rest of the class. Thanks for the analysis there, Dr. Kickass. I'm sorry, but I don't really see why a group of people, mostly people who I found stupid and annoying, should be privy to my inner thoughts. Besides, my problems are my problems, expressing them is not. I do that plenty.

The only thing I took away from the class worth repeating was this cool, little verbal exercise. Read these out loud:

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

I didn't share a bed with your sister.

3 Comments:

Blogger MMS Dave said...

Wow! That was MY sister? That sucks 'cause she's a great kisser!

10:03 PM  
Blogger sugarbunny119 said...

super duper funny my husband and i both lol'd

8:32 PM  
Blogger The Crow said...

Ha ha ha aha... she sounds just like my high school english teacher, who had a problem with me writing about porn and actually threw me out of class.. update ur blog!

8:12 AM  

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