Thomas Hoving

What a pretentious prick!

Am addicted to documentaries right now, thanks to my new friend, Netflix. Just finished Who the #S&% is Jackson Pollock? Great flick.

I spy

I can find at least 8 things gut bustingly funny about this picture. Thoughts?

Wow, I needed that laugh. Today's been a day filled with weirdness. I have been waiting on a reimbursement from the school for travel expenses for a conference I presented at. Charges have been on my card since August. Finally found out there's a hold on my account because I never paid a $10 transcript fee at another freakin' institution 3 years ago (the one where I had to take classes for pisd)!!! I've been on the phone with 27 different voicemail systems (no one answers their damn phones anymore) and finally talked to a woman at my current school who told me that she was unable to speak with me since I was a delinquent of the state. I never got a bill for a transcript (could've sworn I paid online), and suddenly I am a delinquent of the state? And why does a $10 financial hold at one institution preclude me from geting my money at a different institution?

Anyway, I paid the damn 10 bucks and updated my address and so hopefully I am now in the clear. Of course, no one at UH will call me back and the people here won't talk to delinquent me, so who knows. But for now, back to awkward family photos.

Disgusted

You know, just when you think misogyny can't get any worse, it does. Someone I know became a fan of the LFL (lingerie football league), and I thought it was a joke. No, no it's not. Feministing says it best: "Women finally get a pro women's football league, and in order to participate, they have to wear their skivvies." Come on! Not only is it objectification at its finest, but it makes a mockery of women in sports.

I think I might vomit now.

F*ing Amateurs

Perhaps I'm channeling good ole Walter (who is sitting on my desk, briefcase and bowling ball in hand--thank you, Prax), but people piss me off. I was actually pulled aside today by a concerned classmate who felt that my name was being besmirched. This is not news to me since I don't play the little reindeer games of the masses and come from a humanities background. But this one really got me. Apparently, someone in my cohort saw me across campus, waved to me, and is now mad that I did not wave back. And she has now communicated that to everyone, who have all surmised that I am a bitch.

Now if someone doesn't wave back to you, do you automatically assume that she hates you, thinks she's superior to you, is a bitch? Or do you, perhaps, think that a) she may not have seen you; b) might have tunnel vision and is focused on, oh, say, HER FUCKING SCHOOLWORK AND RESEARCH; c) may not have her glasses on at the moment...anything other than that she is snubbing your presence?

I am so tired of the juvenile behavior here. For people who study human development, they are alarmingly stuck in Erikson's first few stages. Or maybe they have a hostile attribution bias toward people. I dunno. I keep thinking back to what Doc said a few weekends ago about people hating anyone who disrupts the homeostasis, and she's pretty much right, but hell--waving? Ridiculous. It's behavior like this that makes me want to quit this PhD thing every single day. Schoolwork is a breeze, but dealing with these morons (many of the profs are just as bad) is getting on my last nerves. I just don't think I can make it.

My apologies to Cole Porter

Every time I look down on this sad little town
Whether blue or grey be her skies
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears
more and more do I realize:

I hate Lubbock in the springtime
I hate Lubbock in the fall
I hate Lubbock in the winter when it drizzles
I hate Lubbock in the summer when it sizzles

I hate Lubbock
Oh why oh why do I hate Lubbock
I really do not know.

Ok, hate may be a strong word, but I've been here a year now, and it's really getting to me. I love the weather. And though they lack any form of decent technology or the wherewithal to do anything about the reason for which I might be calling, call centers are much more friendly here. They have sno cones year round, and that is always a plus. And the city is overrun with duck roosters and prairie dogs, which are dear to my heart.

But I just don't get these people here. They speak a language I simply don't understand. For instance, if someone here asks you, "Would you like to [insert something to do]," they aren't asking you for your preference. They are telling you to do it. I was ordering coffee the other day, and the woman behind the counter asked, "Would you like to pay for your coffee when it's ready?" I said, "No, that's ok. I'll pay now." And she looked at me, bewildered, and said, "No, I mean, I'm waiting on change so I need you to wait to pay later." Why didn't she just say that?
Another instance: I'm at my practicum. A woman says to me, "Would you like to push the baby buggy (yes, that's what she called it)?" I said, "No, thank you." And then the other woman said, "She's leaving. You need to push the baby buggy." Even more bewildering is that in my practicum, I'm there to freaking evaluate these people as teachers, and they are giving me baby buggies (sp???).

And holy red footed llama, the freaking smile. It's seriously like the kiss of death. If one of these bleach blond helmet headed women here smile at you and their right eye twinkles, you are a goner. Sign that will and move on because that woman is going to somehow passive aggressively ruin your life so that you will never work, eat, or live in that community again.

And this, THIS is Lubbock's idea of a feminist website. Are you fucking kidding me? Granted there are a few essays that have substance, but for the most part, if you don't puke from it, you can get a few laughs off of it.

And the men? They are like a bunch of giant necks prancing around, arms akimbo because they won't go straight anymore. Farm boys, corn fed, they call them. I call them ridiculously spoiled misogynistic pricks.

I'm trying to stay focused--trying to just maintain tunnel vision on my schoolwork. But it is just getting to me! And the more I get involved with the democratic group here, the more angry I become. We are ignored, forbidden to speak, and are too small in number to bitch slap these corrupt people in charge. What needs to happen is that we collectively grab our ovaries and balls and then place some of these jackass city council members in a camel clutch and make them humble like Brian Blair (like that, prax?).

Do you know that they are trying to turn one of the oldest art galleries in town into a visitor center? And they canceled the West Texas Music Festival (West Texas' version of SXSW) for fear that *gasp* it might encourage drinking. They had a biker rally here to raise money for domestic violence shelters in the area, and the city council wouldn't allow beer. How do you think the attendance was for that little fundraiser? OH, and here's the best, in 2004, they defaced a piece of art saying it was pagan. Here's the story.

The more I hear about it, the angrier I get, and what incenses me most is that our group seems to be powerless to do anything about it. And furthermore, some of the people in the group are too scared to make it known that they are, indeed, democrats. It's unbelievable. It's like the Democratic party in Lubbock is an underground movement.

Sigh. I need a white russian.

save me from the nothing I've become

You know, I almost hate to write this on here because on this blog, I tend to unleash the ferocious inner ferret (my term for the bitchy part of me that gets mainly supressed all day long). In other words, I'm sharper with my pen than with my lips.

In real life, I think, I'm fairly even keeled, at least in a work setting. And especially at this "job," I keep Frida (my inner ferret) locked away where she can do no damage. I'm polite, articulate, conscientious--in fact, most of the professors adore me because I am the model student. My assistantship super, however, is a different story. I actually think he does like me, but he's just a fuck. He's a misogynistic, egotistical, fuck. As are many of the people in academia which is why I'm not going to even consider the idea of becoming a professor. Been there, done that, not gonna do it again.

So here's my vent. These people treat us like we are fucking subhuman. Imagine Full Metal Jacket meets The Ivory Tower, if you will. They don't call us maggots, no, they are too "nice" for that, but they might as well call us that and force us to do pushups. To them, we are grunts; we have no brains, no souls, no purpose other than to lick their assholes, and I don't particularly much care for that. They do not refer to us by name but by "you, graduate student," and they honestly treat us like shit. actually, here is the perfect analogy. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Imagine a pompous socialite encountering a vagrant on the street. If the socialite does go one step past ignoring the vagrant, THAT is how they treat us.

And yes, what did I expect? I'm a grunt again. My vita means nothing. Fine. But give me some fucking credit. Today my super calls me in to discuss an important meeting with the women's shelter on Tues. We're administering an assessment. Now the only reason I even get to do this cool project is bc I am a woman, so I am way excited about the opportunity. He, however, is miffed that he doesn't get to do it himself and doesn't see me as qualified enough to read out some questions and circle the corresponding number. So he looks me dead in the eye and says in the voice only the Chotchkies Manager from Office Space could use, "Understand, your conduct is going to be of utmost importance in this meeting. It could make or break us." yes, master. I'll get my hump straightened out and refrain from picking my nose and screaming out obscenities. I have 15 years of professional experience, many of which are on the supervisory level and have served on the board of directors of numerous nonprofits. I have been volunteer of the year at several agencies and have been an educational administrator. I've presented at national conferences. You think I can't handle an hour meeting with a woman about an assessment?

Ok and if this weren't enough, we start talking about the assessment process itself. he begins talking about kids like they are morons, asserting that an 8 year old child wouldn't understand the words, "in the past year" or "threat." HOnestly the way he talks about kids just infuriates me. They are all 1 1/2 years old to him. And then, THEN, when I ask about maybe including some rapport building questions at the beginning of the interview, he has the audacity to say, "and well, of course this is just a possibility and not necessarily normalcy but just for the sake of argument let's say you get a girl (he stresses in this slow drawl) and you ask her about dresses and such and you get her going and then she gets all gabby and then you just can't get her to focus again on the questions. That would be a problem and probably, this is just a possibility, you wouldn't have that same reaction from a boy, you see, therein lies the danger of rapport building" (punctuation errors intentional to show how quickly he slurs these phrases together).

Oh, I'm just livid. LIVID! I'm gonna quit and become Alice in Fucking Wonderland at Disneyland.

Oh, and just to throw this in, he's got a fucking can of "Creamed Possum [sic]" on his desk for lunch. Blurk.

Nothing like waking up to an ax and broken glass

Last night I went to bed at 11:45 due to the glycemic crash from the starch laden goodness I consumed while watching House, The Biggest Loser, and Law & Order. It was very strange coming down from the adrenaline rush of this semester. I think I likened it once to the steeplechase--hurdle after hurdle with no thought but the next hurdle, with the exception, perhaps, of the big water hazard ahead. Therefore, having absolutely nothing to read, write, study, or analyze last night was just confusing. I was unsure of myself. I even texted a friend, "Um, what do I do?" to which she responded, "I don't know. I'm not sure myself."

Of course, there are millions of things that need to be done before I leave for the weekend, but for some reason I was paralyzed last night, except for the shoveling motion of chip to mouth and the one finger remote changing reflex. My friend termed our stupor decompression, and I suppose she's right because about 20 minutes into the relaxation period, my emotions started going all whackassed.

Everything, and I mean everything, on tv was choking me up. I got choked up over House looking at Cuddy with the baby. Tears welled up with every pound lost on The Biggest Loser (WTF?). And the clincher--I even got choked up at a Verizon commercial, not when the wife was giving the husband the phone but when he turned around and saw his network behind him. What in the hell? The only things that choke me up are Rudy, Rocky, Miracle, ET, and that lion video where the lion remembers his previous human caretakers. That's about it. So why did I get choked up when the guy saw his network--it wasn't even intended to be sentimental! I'm losing it.

Shortly after an intense episode of SVU, I made it through the grueling local news to see the weather, and then I started crashing. I got horribly cold and clammy, and my body was shaking. The last time I felt like that was right after my first marathon, and this was about as intense. So I decided to hit the sack, as they say in the parlance of our times, and was surprised to see my head on the pillow before midnight.

Sadly, I was awakened at about 2am by this thunking sound. About a month ago, someone tried to beat down my door, so thunking at 2am sets off alarms in my brain. So I grab the phone with thumb on the 9 when I hear glass shattering. I peer out the window, and there is a young male figure with a ski cap on, holding an ax over his shoulder, the blade gleaming in the moonlight like teeth on an Orbit commercial. This is all happening right over the fence that divides my house from the neighbors. Luckily, my neighbor sticks his head out the now gaping hole and screams, "Richard, you moron, you just broke the window." Richard, drunk off his ass, starts screaming in that tone that only drunk off their ass people can do, "Oh Duuuude. No Way! [chortle] I totally was trying to chop the wood and I guess I got mixed up, duuuuude." Neighbor explains to Richard that he's got an early test tomorrow blah blah blah go home. richard says ok dude but doesn't comply.

The next thing I know, I hear Richard in the back yard chopping wood repeatedly. and I'm thinking to myself, "Guy with ax + drunkenness = disaster" and then I hear, Ow. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Dude! I think I chopped my hand off". So neighbors all come out (at this point it is 3am) and it turns out he didn't chop his hand off. He just imagined that he did, and so they once again tell him to go home, not daring to come near him because he has an ax.

Ok, so at this point I'm thinking, wtf is going through this guy's head? Obviously his friends didn't invite him over. They were all asleep (from the fact that they were in their jammies with sleepy looks on their faces and girls wearing nothing but tshirts beside them (in 19 degree weather). So did the guy just get drunk at his house, pick up an ax, and come over to his frat brothers' place to start whacking away at wood (no pun intended)? So weird. Anyway, they talk him out of whacking saying it's a bit late, and he sits down on a stump in the back and says he's just gonna "collect his thoughts."

Everyone goes back inside. It's quiet. And then about 3:30, you start hearing him sing! He's loudly crooning, in a drunken slurry slowness, "Golden Slumbers" through "Carry that Weight", stopping to sing, "You only give me your funny papers" several times, each louder than the first. And then he sobs and calls the dog over, who won't come apparently because he yells, "Fine! You won't give me your funny papers either, I see. Well, I'll show you. I'll show ALL of you!" and starts whacking away again.

This continued until daybreak, and I, gentle readers, am now exhausted from no sleep.

question

Before I describe my new watering hole, I just have to understand something. I probably know the answer to this, but I will ask it anyway.

I think we would all agree that I'm not an eyesore. I mean, I get mistaken for 22; I run marathons, so my body is in great shape; I get told I look like Nicole Kidman (used to be Kelly McGillis, but no one knows her anymore). I mean, I'm not a dog, ok?

Second, I'm getting my PhD. I have a genius IQ. I speak several languages, including Geekspeak. I love the arts. I love sports. I love beer. Adore wine. I drink vodka on the rocks and whisky when I'm grumpy, and I can hold my liquor. I'm well read, and I write poetry. I can quote movies with the best of them. I love to cook, and I'm a fan of both cats and dogs. I know a little bit about everything and can hold my own in a conversation on just about any topic. OH, and I think Firefly is the best series on TV.

Here's what I don't (or do but hate it) understand. Why is it that I can have phenomenal conversations with men at bars, coffee shops, you name it, and no matter what, they go home with the dingbat horsefaced bimbo at the end of the evening? Doesn't even matter if they don't have a good body. Doesn't matter. Everyone is matched up but me.

Oh and here's the clincher. It's not like I don't get hit on. Oh no. After I have the fabulous conversations with the normal guys, they leave and are replaced by the guys who manhandle me, whip out their goods, ask me to watch them masturbate or lick my face. All of these happened to me in the past 2 weeks. Tonight, for example, a guy grabbed my throat from the front and tried to force me to take a shot I didn't want to take (Rumplemintz--ugh). He literally forced my jaw open with one hand while clinching my throat. I had him thrown out.

And it's not just me. My friend D was with me tonight, and a guy came up and drank her drink right in front of her. It seemed as if we were the only two people left to the dregs. Even the guy who looked like Sloth from the Goonies went home with someone normal.

and if the answer is that I am the beautiful apple on the top of the tree but the rotten apples are easier to get or whatever bullshit that hasn't evolved since high school--here's my plea: guys--stop doing that shit. Go for the brilliant ones. We're a dying breed.

Still I found my new catbirds. Stay tuned tomorrow for tales of hula hoops and hippies.

Bastard of the day

It was posted weeks ago, but I've neglected my feminist reading.

Canned biscuits would be heaven compared to the slop I'd feed this jackass for breakfast. Come to think of it, though, I wouldn't be serving breakfast to this jackass or any jackass.

Broken Vows

When I graduated from college, I worked for this shit ass institution with the most crooked SOBs running the place. I was only there for 6 months, and I don't even put it on my resume because it's not worth it. Plus, it was the first of 5 places I've worked for that have gotten into some financial scandal, but I digress. I did make some friends there but soon found out that they were just as crooked as everyone else.

Anyway, I vowed after that job that I would never be friends with anyone at a company again, and aside from friends at HCC (I lucked out with those), I've kept that promise until now. I realized, as I was becoming friends with someone, that it was a bad move, but I allowed myself to do so anyway. Stupid move.

So starting tomorrow, no more friends. No more nothing. Though it makes life much happier at work in the short term to be friends with people, it makes life hell in the long term, and I renew my vow--no more friends. No happy hours. No commiserating. No lunches. No dinners. No movies. No late night talks. No IMs. Nothing. Do you know why? It's because you can't trust anyone--not a damn soul because everyone in this fucking world is out for themselves, the ambitious little pricks.

Hopefully, I'm nipping this in the bud before I get fucked over again.

And sadly, I'm on a self-imposed ban on spending money because I'm trying to save money for a new car. So no Catbirds for me.

Cranky wins

Went to the doc today. I have to wonder, and I happened to wonder this outloud after doc was a little prick to me: Is snideness a byproduct of medical school, or is being an asshole just a prereq for admission?

Anyway, my luck with docs is not wonderful, and this was no exception. I tell him my symptoms, and as usual, I get the "Well, someone sure has their list down." And then without listening goes into a rant about antibiotic overuse (I hadn't even asked for antibiotics) and bacteria mutating and whathaveyou, and then rants about how he has a "case of the sniffles and you don't see [him] running to a doctor whining and complaining" [he says with a teensy little sniff to prove that he does, indeed, have the sniffles.]

at this point I'm thinking, Jesus, you've got some issues, but I just say, "Um, well, I wouldn't have come in except that it's been 5..."

[interrupting]: "Yeah, 5 days. 5 days. It's always 5 days. It is mandatory that you wait 7 days before coming into the doctor. Don't you see that on your Nyquil package!"

"Um, K, but I'm a teach..." [was going to say that I was a teacher and it's TAKS and today was the only day I could get off to come in to the doctor]

[interrupting again]: "Oh, I know, I know, teacher, always wanting the quick fix. wouldn't it be nice if we could all get a quick fix? I sure would like a quick fix [he says all this while writing me out a prescription for an antibiotic]

So he hands me the script and then says, "you need to wait 48 hours before filling this script because you need to make sure that it isn't viral first, and you have to wait 7 days before you can know if it is viral. If in 48 hours, which i doubt, you are still sick, then you can fill this script." He hands me the zpack script.

Well, I know my body, and though I usually fight off the docs who try to force me to take antibiiotics bc usually I have a virus, I know that this time I do have a bacterial infection. Green goop and other things=bacterial infection in my estimation. Plus, it's been since 1999 that I've even taken an antibiotic, so I think I'm ok. Good lord.

That said, I took the antibiotic and I feel better. Not great, but better. green goop has gone yellow and Cranky is able to at least function.

And the F You of the day goes to...

This guy, Dave Crow. As you know, I'm addicted to both Wife Swap and Trading Spouses, though it's not my version of porn, as one Slate writer implies (I'm not even going to go off on her article. BTW, look at the pic of Bimbo Barbie and her new family, particularly at the little kid hugging her, and tell me if you didn't laugh your ass off).

Anyway, back to Dave. This guy is a prick deluxe. Usually I watch TS and laugh at the insanity, but this time, I got tears in my eyes at the way he treated his poor 11 year old son, Chad. I can't go into it because I will bust a blood vessel in anger, but the guy is a fucking cock and has caused the poor kid to feel so bad about himself that he has invented a pack of imaginary monkeys to console him. The scene where the new mom makes Dave take the kids out for a game of golf was heartbreaking. I can't believe the new mom sat there silently and allowed it to happen. I would've swung the fucking 9 iron at the guy's dick and would've said things to him that would not only make a sailor blush but would've made ol' Dave react like Miggs in Silence of the Lambs after Lecter had a few words with him. Of course that would've probably made poor Chad go running for his monkey tribe, too, which is why I am not on the show.

Where do parents get off treating their kids like that? How do they live with themselves? I can't understand it.

It's not easy being green

Graded 14 papers today. 7 were plagiarized. I hate my life.

So here is the list of places I've gone to grade papers this week:
Monday--Starbucks
Tuesday--Denny's
Wednesday--Chili's
Thursday--59 diner
Friday--IHOP
Saturday--day off
Sunday--Starbucks, TacoBell, and Empire Cafe (Every place was too damn cold. I couldn't get comfortable).

Some woman in Starbucks today was the most high maintenance broad I've ever seen. Early 40s, she comes in wearing little hot pants and a workout top complaining that since she's so thin, she's freezing in the cooooold weather (At this point it was 70) and should've worn sweats. Then she proceeds to order: "Hi. I'd like a Venti latte, nonfat, with little foam, exactly 200 degrees and a pinch of soy milk." The woman behind the counter just stares at her. She repeats it again, like some insensitive moron would do for someone who is hearing impaired, "VENTI LAAATAY, NONFAAAT, WITH LIIIIITUHL FOOOAM, EXAACTLEE 200 DEGREES, AND A SMIDGE OF SOY MILK." Is a smidge different than a pinch? I dunno, but the barista tried to do it anyway.

While waiting, HM hot pants decides to banter--nothing worse than a bantering Jersey Villager. I don't even remember what she was saying but everything referred to her workout and how much she works out and how anal she is about measuring out how much cellulite is under her skin, etc.

Then she gets her f*cking latte. OMG. I think her head turned purple, but she maintained this plasticine smile the whole time. She visibly gulped and said with this candy apple sweetness, "Um...maybe you should try this again. I can tell by taste that it is not 200 degrees. I must have it 200 degress because [some book] says that exactly 200 degrees is needed to burn fat cells while drinking it [note to dieters]. " And she shoves the 2 cups back into the barista's face. the barista, befuddled, attempts to test the milk and then heats it back up. HMHP says, "I don't know how they do it in The Tunnel, but it is always perfect. That Stefan, he always knows how to do me right [giggle giggle]. Maybe I should ask him how he makes it and come back and tell you. That wouldn't offend you, right. I mean, I just want to help you make it right. YOu wouldn't be offended by that, right? I mean, I want it the right way, and this way, you wouldn't have to think I was a pain in the ass by making you redo it because you wouldn't have to redo it, right?"

Barista hands the cups to another barista and says, "Make Trudi's drink, please."

This shit continues on forever. She gets on the phone and yells with candy apple sweetness, of course, at someone for being in a meeting when she called. The whole store is glaring at her, and she's bouncing around, talking like someone on meth. She finally leaves, and every barista in the place slams their head down on the counter simultaneously. Priceless.

That said, I'm tired of grading, so I'm doing my nothavingtothink addiction--quizzes and useless trivia online. Today, it's Sesame Street, in honor of the fact that i'm trying to get back at WTTW in Chicago. Keep your fingers crossed.

Here is why I'm Kermit the Frog.
You are somewhat organized. You have a good idea where you put things and you probably keep your place reasonably clean (except during paper grading time). You aren't totally obsessed with neatness though (As I shouldn't be). You are sometimes concrete and sometimes abstract thinker. You have a good balance in your life. You know when to be logical at times, but you also aren't afraid to explore your dreams and desires. (Come on WTTW)! You are both extroverts. Kermit gets along with everyone. Sure a few folks annoy him, but that's just because they are annoying (Couldn't have said it better myself. Cranky with justification, thank you). You definitely enjoy the company of others, and you don't have problems meeting new people... in fact you probably look forward to it. You are willing to take charge when necessary or work as part of a team.

Yep, Kermit's cool. I thought I'd be Oscar. At least I wasn't Bert with his bottlecap collection. BTW, I also picked up some interesting SS facts:

• Snuffy's real name is Aloysius Snuffleupagus
• Cookie was actually a potato chip monster in the 60s, as a branding icon. His name was Arnold.
• Despite all of the hype about Cookie's bad diet, he actually ate rice cakes on the set.

K, and have you checked out these creatures on PBS lately? It's like the Teletubbies on acid. Trippy.

Motivation?

Yesterday, we teachers got a letter in the mail stating that our "cost of living" raises this year would be cut due to the fact that the legislature couldn't make up their mind about Texas teachers. Of course, the $100 annual raise won't put much of a dent in my wallet, but it's still disheartening in principle. Today, however, the district decided that our motivational speaker would be this assclown. You can look over his credentials and other material and even see video clips, if you wish. From what he says, he's never stepped foot into a classroom as a teacher, but apparently his principles work for everyone. These principles include always "remember the rainbow" which is the positive side of things and to stop watching or listening to the news because all news is negative and "what goes in comes out." Instead, we should listen to "motivational Christian speakers like Chuck Swindoll and James Dobson." Plus, under his guarantee on his website, he promises to never be rude to the audience members. HA! He spent 4 hours berating us as teachers and pointing out people individually if they were late or had to get up. In fact, when the school facility manager came in and brought come chairs for the people in the back, he told the man to pack them up and get out because since they were late, they didn't deserve to sit down. He pointed to some seats right in front of him (mind you, he was not on stage but standing on the front row so the people's faces would end up right in his crotch) and told them that if they needed to sit down so badly, they could sit right there. He also stopped his stupid little anecdotes about his fabulous mansion with a cool gameroom and about his 23 year old sophomore son to scream at a guy who came in late saying that he was welcome to come into the time management seminar. The guy walked right back out. He then continued anecdotes about how he likes to drive up to Whataburger drive thrus and speak in partial sentences just so that he can get the point across that the workers have no annunciation skills and about how he likes to go into the deli at various grocery stores and ask them to cut meat 12 different ways and then claim not to want it just to see if they would become angry or have good customer service. It was like listening to a frat boy give a motivational speech. The worst part, however, was when assclown told us that we (teachers universally) were the biggest "bunch of whiners" and should stop whining about pay raises because we don't "need anymore money. [We] need to stop getting ourselves into debt." He said that we wouldn't need to cry about pay raises if we would stop buying our $35,000 SUVs and that if we were so concerned about our money, we need to get out of the job. "PISD would be happy to see you go," he said. I listened to about 5 more mintues of his disgust with negative teachers who are perfectionistic and obsessed with money and the "destination disease" which is constantly looking toward the future instead of living in the moment. Finally, I got up, waded through the seats and walked right out the door. I wasn't about to listen to anymore. Only three other people went with me. He then said that negative people like to flock together and asked everyone else who were "postive people and liked the things they were hearing to please raise [their] hands and say,'OUTSTANDING.'" The four of us were amazed at the unbelievable positive roar we heard as we walked to our 10 year old cars.