Begin Rant
I've found that I hate my poetry teacher. I mean that literally. I hate him. And it's not just because I hate poetry with every inch of my body. Some of the things he does should've been caught by somebody somewhere during his journey through the stages of becoming a teacher. A university official needs to be fired on the basis that this guy's a professor today, or at the very least feel ashamed of themselves.
He does that annoying thing where he'll start a sentence and pause before the last word so that the students can say it. "I'm thirsty so I'm going to the water... fountain, right." My third grade teacher did that when she wanted to put emphasis on something in particular. This guy does it for no reason in particular. Today I actually counted the number of times he did it within one seventy-five minute class because it bothers me so much. Seventeen. SEVENTEEN. That's once every four minutes or so. If he was saying anything interesting I might let it slide, but he says the dumbest bullshit that don't even warrent the Third Grade Pause. "In actuality, the surreal is actually the real, and the real is actually the... surreal, right." What? What is the point of that, even? Is it some sad way to integrate the class into your blatherings? Because let me tell you, I'm finding that learning to sleep with my eyes open is a lot more enriching than anything you're teaching.
Today he asked us to take three minutes and write a thesis for the third paper due in a few weeks. Everyone got a piece of paper out and began to write. Not five seconds into it, he started peppering the silence sporatically with useless little comments. Imagine being asked to write a limerick in Pig Latin while someone is popping balloons right next to your head and irregular intervals. With Cher's "Believe" playing on repeat. If you have something to tell me about the assignment at hand, tell me when you're first assigning it. It's called an organized lesson plan, you twit. At least act apologetic or something.
This is relatively minor, but the guy has some kind of rare bone marrow disease that causes him to be unable to not reference "professor and friend David Shapiro" once an hour. I don't know who this Shapiro schmuck is, but apparently he's another professor at the university and they're old college buddies. The weird dependency stems from that time they had a threeway with a hooker named Esmeralda high on opium. (The hooker, not them.) A David Shapiro Original™ Opinion/Pun/Observation/Proverb is dispensed daily. In my head David Shapiro is a fortune cookie with arms.
End rant.
He does that annoying thing where he'll start a sentence and pause before the last word so that the students can say it. "I'm thirsty so I'm going to the water... fountain, right." My third grade teacher did that when she wanted to put emphasis on something in particular. This guy does it for no reason in particular. Today I actually counted the number of times he did it within one seventy-five minute class because it bothers me so much. Seventeen. SEVENTEEN. That's once every four minutes or so. If he was saying anything interesting I might let it slide, but he says the dumbest bullshit that don't even warrent the Third Grade Pause. "In actuality, the surreal is actually the real, and the real is actually the... surreal, right." What? What is the point of that, even? Is it some sad way to integrate the class into your blatherings? Because let me tell you, I'm finding that learning to sleep with my eyes open is a lot more enriching than anything you're teaching.
Today he asked us to take three minutes and write a thesis for the third paper due in a few weeks. Everyone got a piece of paper out and began to write. Not five seconds into it, he started peppering the silence sporatically with useless little comments. Imagine being asked to write a limerick in Pig Latin while someone is popping balloons right next to your head and irregular intervals. With Cher's "Believe" playing on repeat. If you have something to tell me about the assignment at hand, tell me when you're first assigning it. It's called an organized lesson plan, you twit. At least act apologetic or something.
This is relatively minor, but the guy has some kind of rare bone marrow disease that causes him to be unable to not reference "professor and friend David Shapiro" once an hour. I don't know who this Shapiro schmuck is, but apparently he's another professor at the university and they're old college buddies. The weird dependency stems from that time they had a threeway with a hooker named Esmeralda high on opium. (The hooker, not them.) A David Shapiro Original™ Opinion/Pun/Observation/Proverb is dispensed daily. In my head David Shapiro is a fortune cookie with arms.
End rant.