October 2008 Archives

I'm back to picking on education.

Today's topic is Science.

This is something I am particularly picky about, since my wife Karrie, aside from being lovely, is also a science nerd of epic proportions; she has a Bachelor's in Aerospace Engineering and a Master's in Physics.  Because of this, it is not uncommon for our dinner-time conversation to turn to "the problems of time travel", and we have had heated arguments over "terminal velocity".

So, you'll have to excuse me if you think I am being a bit harsh here.

In my life, I have met a frightening number of people that firmly believe that Science is a complete waste of their time.  Of course, these same people likely believe that the sun is dragged across the sky in a flaming chariot, so perhaps I shouldn't let them bother me so much.  For simplicity's sake, I will refer to these people as "idiots".

I mean... seriously... Science?  A waste of time?  Have these people never seen MacGyver?

My concern, however, is not for them.  Not directly, at least.  My primary problem with these people is that they are allowed to breed.  They are allowed to bring a new life into this world, fill it up to the brim with "stupid" and set it free.  Don't get me wrong here.  My kids are going to need some people to pump their gas, and clean their homes, just not that many of them.

But I am getting off topic again.  Back to Science...

The MTA frequently provides me with wonderful examples of the appalling state of education in America today.  And for science, it doesn't disappoint.

I was sitting there on the train, likely playing a game on my laptop, when I overheard a man describing to his friends how a "Mosquito Magnet" works.

What struck me about this man was the supreme confidence with which he spoke.  He spoke as if he had not only invented the "Mosquito Magnet", but that he personally built each one by hand to ensure that they adhered to his high quality standards.

The gaggle of commuters that surrounded him was enraptured.  This guy must have been in sales; he could have told them almost anything, and they would have believed him.  I'll be honest here.  I really only had an inkling of how these devices work, but it took me about 30-seconds to find a website that explained it in detail.  To make a long story short, I think the only thing he got right was the name.

Maybe this guy doesn't deserve my ire.  I mean, sure, he is as dumb as the day is long, but boy do I wish I was as good at making shit up and saying it with such confidence...

Commuter: So, you're saying that my car can run on Mayonnaise?

Me: That's right.  And the only byproduct is bubbles, which come right out of your muffler to the delight of the neighborhood children.

Commuter: I'm stopping at Costco on the way home!

Of course they'd learn, soon enough, that I was wrong.  But not before I'd had my fun...

Me: You used Hellmann's?  You idiot!

Commuter: But... you said...

Me: Everyone knows that Miracle Whip is what cars run on!

Alas, our friend from the train is not alone.  No, he's just one of many science-challenged people, all of whom believe they are not.  You can find clues of cluelessness everywhere.  Let's take, for instance, some lyrics from a popular song by Sheryl Crow:

"And every time you hear the rolling thunder
You turn and run before the lightning strikes"

If you don't know why I have a problem with these lyrics, please stop reading now.  Go, find your High School Physics teacher.  Tell them you are sorry.

For those of you that are left...

Perhaps you think that I am going to point out the obvious; that lightning comes before thunder.  Or, maybe you expect me to eviscerate Sheryl Crow for making such a blunder.  Wrong on both points.  Instead, I am going to focus on her fans.

For, you see, I am not the first person to notice this chronological conundrum.  A little Googling will bring you to sites where at least one of her fans defends her lyrics by saying that "Rolling Thunder" is different than "Thunder".

I see.

So... when thunder "rolls", it somehow makes sound faster than light? 

It's all so clear now.

Another fan confidently informs everyone that "thunder always comes before lightning".  He enforces his argument further by adding "it's a fact". 

Wow... just... wow.

While the first fans only took a sip from the stupid well. This guy drank deeply from it, took a bath in it, and then bottled some to take home.  I really hope it was actually a smart fan who was just kidding.

Let's just put this one to bed, shall we?  Light is faster than sound, even if you "roll" it.  I forgive Sheryl Crow for not knowing, or even caring, about this.  If she wanted to, she could probably pay someone enough money to change the world to match her lyrics.

But, those that try to defend her by disregarding a few laws of physics, are idiots.

As a parent, I have spent alot of time and energy trying to be as unbiased as possible.  There is no doubt in my mind that my kids are the best kids, ever.  But there was never a need to rub it in the faces of the other parents.

But, after all the bullshit I have seen and heard kids do in the last few years, I give up.

Your kids suck.

I am sorry, but they do.  And it's your fault; you are shitty parents.

I wish I could say "You know who you are!", but the fact is... you don't.  You think you are awesome, and you think your kids are angels.  But, you are so very wrong.  You are wrong to a level that cannot be measured with modern instruments.  We would need to travel to a far distant future where they have massive banks of "wrongometers" capable of measuring trillions of wrongs per second in order to begin to calculate the sheer volume of wrongness contained in your fragile body.

No, your children are not angels.  They have abused my children too many times for me to ignore it anymore.  The details really don't matter, so I won't post them here except to say that my kids are frequently the victims of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of your foul spawn.  And it's starting to piss me off, in case that isn't obvious.

Now, while I don't like seeing my children hurt, I do understand that this is part of life.  You gotta take the good with the bad.  My problem isn't with the fact that they get hurt.  My problem is that there are never any consequences for the actions of the children who hurt them.  Ever.

Schools, for example, no longer have any authority to mete out punishment that has any meaning to children.  In many schools, teachers aren't legally allowed to touch children even to save them from harm!  They frequently get in trouble for yelling at them.  They can't even keep them after class anymore... no no... Jimmy has Soccer practice then! 

The chosen punishment at my kid's school is the issuing of a "demerit".  Wow... I bet that has the kids shivering at the mere thought.  Best I can tell, the scariest thing about a demerit is that you might get a paper-cut from it.  This is clearly not the type of punishment that we need... 

Billy (crying): Ms. Harmony!  Jimmy punched me!

Jimmy: Did not!

Ms. Harmony:  Jimmy... You know that we're not supposed to hit.  I'm afraid that means you get a demerit.

Jimmy: Sweet!  That gives me 49!  Mommy says I get ice cream when I get to 50!

Jimmy punches Billy again.

Billy (still crying): Ow!  My spleen!

And why aren't schools allowed to punish children in a way that actually works?  Because many parents won't let them!  They'll say "My Jimmy would NEVER hurt another child!".  Even if there is video evidence.  Even if their child is actively pummeling another child while they are saying it!  Even if their child's name is not Jimmy! (They aren't very bright) 

If I ruled the planet... situations like this would be dealt with in a swift and severe manner.

Billy (crying): Ms. Harmony!  Jimmy punched me!

Jimmy: Did not!

Ms. Harmony: Jimmy... I warned you about this yesterday.  You know what that means.

Ms. Harmony slowly pulls a yard-long plank of well-worn ironwood from a leather sheath strapped jauntily to her hip.  The hissing sound it makes as it is drawn causes the entire playground to fall silent in grim anticipation. 

Jimmy: Mother of God!  Not "The Bullywhacker"!  Please... mercy...

Ms. Harmony: You've left me no choice.

Jimmy runs -- they always run -- but he is hit by a taser long before he reaches the electrofied playground fence. 

Haha!  Oh that Jimmy!  Even if he had somehow made it past the fence, he should have known that he'd never make it through the moat.  That's what I call negative reinforcement!  Here... I created this simple diagram for those that are interested in using negative reinforcement for raising their children.  It should help clear up any misconceptions.

Seriously though... when did it become ok for our kids to be assholes?  It's not cute people!  When I see the way kids act today, it makes me feel like pimp-slapping their parents.  I think parents these days understand how to train a dog better than they know how to raise kids. 

No, I am not suggesting that raising children is as easy as training a pet.  What I am suggesting, however, is that if training a pet is like Algebra and raising a child is like Calculus, then these parents are still working on their "times tables".

So, even though they are not the same, there are some basic principles that are.  For instance, when they do something good, reward them, when they do something bad, punish them.  This is NOT a difficult concept to grasp, and yet I see parents doing the opposite of this all the time. 

The MTA, yet again, provides me with a real-world example...

One time, I was traveling on a bus in the city.  I only needed to go two stops.  When I got on, there was some drama already in progress.  There was a woman sitting in an aisle seat, and a screaming child standing in the aisle next to her.  He appeared to have a larger than normal lung capacity, since I am certain that he was bellowing like a wounded water buffalo for several minutes, without taking a breath. 

It didn't take long to figure out what was going on.  He wanted the seat, and his mother wasn't going to let him have it.  As annoying as his screaming was, I was very happy with how the mother was handling the situation.  She was coolly ignoring him.

But then, just before I got off the bus at my stop... she ruined it all.  She got up, and gave him the seat.  Congratulations asshat, you just taught your son a valuable lesson: "Hang in there!  Your tantrum will pay off!".  Idiot.

On my planet, you would need a license to breed, and it would require an IQ test.

But alas, we live here on Earth where any bozo can have children.

And so, I say it again...

Your kids suck.

Please stop making more of them.

On Monday of this week I got to be a part of the American Judicial System.

I was summoned to be a juror.

Many people become unhinged when they get a Jury Summons.  They think: "Jury duty could last days, weeks, or even months!  I cannot be away from my work for that long!".  When in fact, just yesterday they spent over an hour at work conducting a vigorous and, sadly, fruitful search for navel lint.

I personally didn't mind it much when I got my summons.  I kinda felt like "Wait... so... instead of commuting two hours into the city, spending the entire day working and then commuting two more hours to arrive at a dark house with a sleeping family... you want me to spend the entire day deciding the fate of some poor bastard and still get home in time to enjoy a hot dinner?  Where do I sign?".  Frankly, it's amazing this doesn't use up vacation time.

Me: Dammit! I cannot use my BlackBerry?

Guard: No, that's ok, we allow Blackberr-

Me: This is an outrage! 

Guard: But sir, we allow-

Me, handing my BlackBerry to the guard: My boss won't be happy, but I guess that's that.  Which way is the courtroom?

Guard: That way.  But sir, we are going to have to insist that you wear pants.

There was nothing about THAT on the Jury Summons!

Once you get past the security checkpoint, you are ushered into a large room where you...

WARNING: If you want to maintain the fantasy of the wild, crazy, hedonistic party that is the process of Jury Selection, then read no more!

...wait.

Like a fool, I came early.  I arrived by 9am, even though we didn't have to be there till 11am.  Because of my early arrival, however, I was able to get a good seat so that I could concentrate on the most entertaining part of Jury Service... the other potential Jurors.

Over the next few hours, I saw the first round of a game that I now know as "Jury Service Avoidance".  From my prime location I was able to closely observe, and categorize the players in this game.  Some of the first ones I identified were:

The Mom: How is she expected to get a babysitter?  I mean, you only gave her several months notice!

The Important Business Person: Sure, you may work.  But not like them!  You are but a cog in the machine.  Without them, their company will go out of business!

The Non-English Speaker: When they were speaking to you earlier, they appeared to know English rather well.  But when asked by a court official?  Suddenly they don't "habla" so much.

The Idiot: This is my "catch-all" category for the rest of the people that wanted no part of Jury Duty, but could not think up any believable reasons not to be there.

This parade of fantastic excuses trampled the ground before the uncaring government workers for hours and hours.  Each assault, however, was soundly rebuffed by a shield of carbon-steel coated apathy.  And so, the whiny bitches were forced to take their ridiculously uncomfortable seats and watch "News 12" just like the rest of us.

"News 12" seems somehow different when you watch it for hours at a time.  It's only after an hour or two, that you realize that the entire channel has only about 15 minutes of news.  They simply repeat it over, and over, and over (and over).  If I had to hear about Cadbury recalling their products ONE more time, I swear I would be entering the courtroom in a slightly different capacity.

But, after a mere five hours of waiting, we were all called into the courtroom.  Once we were all seated uncomfortably on the hard wooden benches in the back of the room, the judge asked if there were any of us that felt we could not perform our duty as jurors.  That's when round two of "Jury Service Avoidance" began.  A couple of new players emerged:

This Sick Person: When I sat near this person in the waiting room, they were as quiet as could be.  Thoroughly engaged in the captivating news program about the dangers of sports drinks.  But, as soon as we entered the courtroom?  They started coughing like they had Tuberculosis.

The Old Person: His excuses were: a) He doesn't hear so well, and b) He has to pee... often.  While he was up talking to the judge, I would estimate that he put his hand to his ear and said, I quote, "Eh?", about a dozen times.  Stupid?  Yes.  But his plan appeared to work, since he was allowed to leave.  And it's a good thing for me too, since he sat next to me, and I am pretty sure I knew what "Plan B" was.

After that round of filtering, they selected 15 of us to sit up where the jury sits, and they started to interview us.  I was among those 15 potential jurors, and so were several members of our last group of players in the third, and final round of "Jury Service Avoidance":

The Desperate: I am pretty sure these were the same exact people that I lumped into the "Idiots" category.  But moving further along in the process forced them to metamorph into something more strange and beautiful.  Something more... retarded.

These poor souls were now fighting like cornered rats.  The fear that they might actually have to do something useful for their country was now fully clouding their judgment.  They would do and say almost anything to avoid being there.  I saw one of them eyeing the bailiff's gun.

Lawyer: Does everyone here believe they can be fair and impartial?

Juror #9: No.

Lawyer: What do you mean, "No"?

Juror #9: I hate you.

Those may not have been his exact words.  But they were close.

Eventually, the interviews were finished, the judge and lawyers discussed their observations in private, and finally they announced who would stay and who would go.

Alas, I was not picked to be a juror.

But still, I feel like I got to play a part in the never-ending pursuit of justice.

And I got home in time for dinner.