Columbia Rant 2.

My new favorite professor:
"Please turn off your cell phones. Your drug dealer can wait til after class."
"Philosophy, believe it or not, is much more complex than sitting around the bong and accepting each others' opinions."
"You have two free excused absences. So for whatever reason you can't make it--if you're hungover at this time of day..."
"I won't buy the death of a grandparent excuse. I had a student last semester who had 12 grandparents die."
Speaking on the way he grades: "I really only put this in the syllabus for my DePaul students who have never received a B in their lives. I don't think anyone in this room hasn't received a grade under an A."
"Don't plagiarize. If it's three in the morning and you have a paper due the next day, and you're out of weed, please call me. I'll talk you down."

Etc, etc, etc. Quips about us dropping out. More quips about drug use.

I was one of the only ones laughing. Where's the school pride, fellow students? We are auto-acceptance. We are artbags. We are incapable of work that we cannot pry out of our asses.
We are Columbia!

There was an overbearing stench of cigarette smoke this evening. And not from people's clothing. It didn't drift in until the of middle class. And it certainly wasn't from the street. We were on the 14th floor. Somewhere in a Columbia building some badass don't-give-a-fuck, underpaid professor was presumably allowing his students to smoke in class. Kind of like how my friend's professor allowed him to take a bottle of vodka to class at nine in the morning last semester.

And I'm not going to lie. It may not be as much of a novelty now, but the novelty is still there. The ridiculous bullshit still humors me and caters to my half-assed attitude about academics.

I should stop being so bitter. It's Thirsty Thursday, and you can bet two in three Columbia students will be drinking this evening, regardless of whether or not they have class at nine tomorrow.

Now I'm off to be typical. Off to hit the box and chain smoke in a student residency bathroom and talk shit on other Columbia students, who are hopefully talking shit on me.

FUCK the secret

just because you physically tell your boobish self in the mirror that you are going to be a famous actor one day DOES NOT MEAN YOU WILL BE THE NEXT JOHN GOODMAN PIECE OF SHIT.

just because you make a compositionless poster-board with incompetent little cutouts of gold watches and title it "MY VISION BOARD" DOES NOT MEAN YOU WILL BE SUCCESSFUL.


you are hopeless, you are garbage, you are a parasite.
infact I'm going to make a VISION BOARD with all of you cocksuckers cutting off your dicks.

GOD BLESS. 666