Friday, February 5, 1999
Students susceptible to spell of boredom
SCHOOL: Fun-filled childhood pastimes are over; we must now
endure hours of tedious lectures
This may come as a surprise to many people, especially those
people who watch bowling on TV, but I’m not too fond of crap.
"Hey, wait a minute," bowling enthusiasts are probably saying,
"I love crap."
In all likelihood, these people are in luck, because we are
surrounded on all fronts by crap. I’m talking about crap of every
conceivable variety, not just the kind that sticks to your shoe and
makes people think you have a philosophical opposition to soap.
The way I see it, crap is everywhere.
Music can be crap (for example, set your radio dial to "On"),
cars can be crap (whatever I happen to be driving at a given time),
politics can be crap (no, wait, politics must be crap) – you name
it.
Even certain types of people can be crap, and I’m thinking in
particular of those types of people who actually liked the
Ewoks.
Today, however, I have bigger crap to fry. I have a bone to pick
with the King of Crap, which, you’ll be astounded to learn, is not
a person who liked the Ewoks. Rather, the King of Crap is
boredom.
Most people are not crazy about boredom and by "most" I mean
"people who are still alive." I am especially sensitive to
boredom.
This means that, among other things, I can sense the approach of
boring developments from upwards of 7 miles away.
This is not a problem if boredom keeps its distance, but it
tends to be a nuisance when the avatar of boredom is, say, one of
my professors.
Even this would not be a problem if I didn’t have to sit through
his class for 90 minutes every other day. This is comparable, in
terms of fun activities, to removing your own face with a potato
peeler.
Roughly speaking, the "fun factor" of his class is on par with a
game we used to play in grade school, the name of which I can’t
remember because it had nothing to do with "Star Wars."
The object of the game, which my friends and I made up after the
cafeteria monitors told us we can no longer start fires at the
lunch table, was for one kid to place his fists down on a flat
surface while another kid – this is the fun part – raked a comb
across his knuckles.
We were not into games infused with any semblance of
intelligence. If a game had more complex rules than, "The loser is
the first person who cries," we weren’t interested.
After a few rounds of nail-biting excitement, the kid gave you
the comb and then – get ready – you raked it across his knuckles.
What a blast!
I tell you, in grade school, the hilarity never stopped!
"Ha ha," a participant in this game would often say, "Is this
ever going to stop?"
Some of us used to laugh until tears rolled down our cheeks, but
most of us didn’t bother laughing.
Usually, we just punctuated the game with such fun-filled
commentary as, "I can’t move my fingers," or, when things got
really exciting, "I want my mom."
Boy, those were the days.
Unfortunately, now all we have is calculus, which is slightly
less fun and far less practical than raking a comb across your
knuckles until they bleed.
Not that I have anything against my professor, mind you. I don’t
bear him any ill will and that’s not just something I say to
bolster my alibi, should I ever need one in a case such as this:
"Yes, your honor, but does that prove my client’s guilt? How do we
know this professor was not born with a ruler embedded in his
head?"
Granted, it’s not his fault. Boredom is in his blood. His
ancestry can be traced back to the 1500s, when his forefathers
sailed to America from Greenland, presumably after their spaceship
crashed.
Of course, though I know it’s not his fault, I don’t loathe him
any less – as measured by how every time I see him I make the same
facial expression of a person who accidentally looked into a toilet
bowl that someone forgot to flush (and I’m not talking about "No.
1").
Moreover, don’t be fooled into thinking my professor is
harmless. He is more powerful than you could possibly imagine. Time
and again, I must rebuff his impassioned efforts to convert me.
Professor: Join me and I will complete your training. With our
combined strength we can end this destructive conflict and bring
order to the galaxy.
Me: I’ll never join you!
Professor: If you only knew the power of boredom.
If it falls into the wrong hands, the ability to inflict boredom
is more deadly than any weapon of mass destruction ever created,
even a David Hasselhoff album.
Everyone has fallen under the spell of boredom at one time or
another. One moment you’re staring numbly at the professor, barely
cognizant of whatever might happen around you – even the detonation
of a nuclear device – and the next you’re face down in a pool of
saliva the size of Lake Michigan.
Even worse, perhaps, is the "Phantom Cliff." There you are in
class, trying desperately to look like a person who is in
interested in the lecture, but looking more like someone who just
got shot with a horse tranquilizer, when suddenly you get that odd
falling sensation ("Whoa!") followed by a convulsive jerk of the
head, as if someone tried to touch you with a booger.
Then you guiltily glance around the room because you’re
absolutely certain everyone was watching this happen.
No, folks, this is not a pretty thing. Fortunately, I have a
two-step plan to combat boredom.
Step 1: Send me large monetary donations so that I might have
the resources to come up with a plan much better than this one.
Step 2: Implement Operation Presidential "Cover-up."
"It sounds great, Tony," you might be saying, "but will
Operation Presidential Cover-up work for me?"
Yes, it will! Provided you have guts, determination and most of
all, a noticeable lack of dignity. Just ask yourself one simple
question: Do I currently, at the present time, have any
friends?
If the answer is "No," you’re ready to get started! All you have
to do is dress up like an alleged criminal who is or has been a
president of the United States (yes, the possibilities are
limitless).
Imagine the look of surprise on the teacher’s face when 50
Richard Nixons walk into the room, and his heart stops beating! Ha
ha.
Just make sure you’re not the only one involved in the plan
(imagine the fun then).
Oh, and if you choose President Clinton, please leave your
cigars at home.Tony Scinta
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