The Jessica Journals:

January 25, 2005: The Terror Continues (...and it has bad hair)

To fully express my feelings on this fell day, I am forced to once again turn to bad poetry.

Tenebrous enlightenment
Enshrouds all in misery
Sans sanity I am left
To mourn my fate

The first two days of classes have been survived...barely. I think the main reason I can say that is the fact that three of my classes were dismissed after the professors went over the syllabi. The question now is: Will I be able to survive a full-length class? Of that I am less than certain.

An actual boar would have been more interesting Philosophy 101 was a bore. While it serves a purpose in opening people up to new ideas, it seems to me that anyone with a moderate amount of willpower could go to the library, check out any number of philosophical works, read them on their own time, and learn as much as they would learn in this class without the hassle of a professor trying to “guide” them. However, it was only the first meeting so I won’t be dogmatic about it. The royal We shall wait until the second class to reach a firm conclusion.

I will say this much, the first reading assignment was Socrates’ Apology which to me seems ironic in the extreme. One would think professors would be the last people to want to expound on Socrates, considering Socrates devoted his life to telling the intellectual elite they were stupid. But, if history is any indication, the establishment routinely claims the rebels as its own upon their death. As a result, I feel compelled to state very plainly right here and now that I despise academia and professors of every kind and that my spite applies just as much to the pointy-headed elitists who will be lecturing on my fiction 100 years from now as it does to the pointy-headed elitists of my own day and age who have never heard of me.

My first English Literature class was almost over before it began. The professor spent fifteen minutes going over the syllabus and then dismissed us. Fifteen minutes, however, were 14 minutes and 58 seconds more than I needed to figure out that my English Lit. professor is somewhat idiosyncratic in appearance. He’s 5’6” tall, 120 pounds, and possesses the sunken cheeks and consequent prominent cheekbones of a British, horror-movie actor. It was, however, his hair that really caught my attention. His hairline has receded so much that he is quite bald from the forehead to the crown of his head; however, the hair on the sides and back of his head is still quite thick. This in an of itself is no big deal; however he apparently had the bright idea to brush the hair by his temples toward the back of his head which results in two curious bulges on either side of his head which appear to be the beginning stages of horns. I am aware that sometimes people find it difficult to picture images drawn with words. Therefore, using a photograph of my arch-nemesis Matt Dart as a model, I have provided a pictorial representation of my professor’s hair below.

My hiar isnt pritty.

Of all my classes, the Composition 102 class seems the most promising. With the exception of one essay by Milton and Rose Friedman, the reading assignments have all been written by hard-core Commies. I don’t know which one to look forward to more the Robert Reich essay or the Simone De Beauvoir piece.

Finally, we arrive at the Drawing Naked People Class. Yes, I am officially a follower of Satan. When James Dobson, Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robertson gave me a choice between going to heaven or drawing lewd pictures of filth I chose the nekid people. So, now, for 3 hours a night every Tuesday and Thursday I will be working my way that much closer to hell.

Who better to model this hair than the man Playgirl voted the sexiest newscaster of 2004? My art teacher is the same long-haired, balding hippy who seems to be teaching every single other art class on the entire North American continent. The odd thing about this particular teacher is that, although he’s quite bald, there’s one half-inch thick patch of hair right smack on the top of his head in the middle of his bald spot. Why he doesn’t just shave it off I have no idea; however, I found it mesmerizing and could barely take my eyes off it. Will the nudes be able to break the fascination of his head or will I fail the class because I can’t concentrate on drawing? Only time will tell.

Beyond the fact that I’m bored out of my mind, I might just possible make it through this semester, but I wouldn’t count on it.



Copyright 2005 Jessica Menn