Posts Tagged ‘education


An honoured and noble profession…

New development in my new life… I am now a shaper of young minds… Except young minds are a bit like runny porridge it turns out, so really all I’m doing is getting my hands dirty in a thankless pursuit of guiding younger people through the steps they need to take before they join the real world… Needless to say, I am not Robin Williams as John Keating, and this is not my personal version of Dead Poets Society.

I don’t know if this is true of all teachers, tutors, lecturers and instructors but I take the role of lecturer rather seriously. Or more accurately, I take it personally. I think of my students as partly reflections on or of me. If they aren’t confident and knowledgeable in the subjects that I teach them, it would mean that I failed. Failure is not something I do well or with any kind of dignity… This quirk has carried through to lecturing as well.

The day I explode at students who I feel aren’t trying or putting the work in is soon at hand. These are college kids. Most of who only do the bare minimum to pass and spend most of their time partying their tits off. Not doing something as sane and responsible as actual college work. This is the natural behaviour of a college student, I suppose. College years are meant for wild parties, wild self-exploration and wilder exploration of others. For me though it’s as much as becoming the future professional you see yourself as, which means milking the chance to study, learn and practise your trade or craft, as much as possible…

Also I put a lot of personal time, energy and thought into my lectures. I read through the prescribed textbook (which turns out to be put together by obnoxious, contrived wankers), make notes, break down the ideas and information so it’s easier to understand and then put together, what I hope, is an entertaining presentation. I want the class to understand the concepts and get excited about the possibilities of what they could do with this new knowledge… Alas… I think I am the only excited person in the lecture room…

I’m usually faced with blank stares for an hour and a half. 11 gormless people sitting through my choreographed song and dance at the front of the room. They aren’t taking notes, most of them aren’t really listening to what I’m saying, they’re not reading or looking at what’s in my presentation. I sometimes wonder if some of them are even still awake. I’m sure there are a few that have mastered sleeping with their eyes open. They stay motionless and expressionless until people around them start moving to leave. Then they move like someone has set their asses on fire. As soon as I say, “…and now we’re done for the day.” The room erupts into activity as they all rush for the door, with the hiss of quietly whispered, “Yesssss…” in celebration.

I do fucking apologize that I’m not some fucking E! Channel – reality show, fringe-celebrity for getting fucked on handy cam in night-vision mode – calibre entertainment. Surely though, you could try not blatantly celebrating – because you’re not hiding it at all – the fact that I have stopped trying my hardest to share what I know with you… Honestly, I feel bad for every teacher and lecturer that I ever disrespected by not doing my best in their class… It is probably one of the most disheartening things when your students seemingly couldn’t give the tiniest of fucks.

There are a few students though who are taxing in another way altogether. For whatever reason, I suspect it is because of my age (I am only 28 this year), some students think they can challenge and pull apart my explanations… These students are worse than the deadpan corpses occupying seats in the class! They’re engaging me, and the subject (kind of), but it’s not genuine. They’re doing it to test my patience or my knowledge about what I’m teaching, all in some attempt to embarrass me in front of their peers. They are, of course, never successful because they don’t know what they’re talking about and it starts to sound like they have a serious learning disability by purposefully trying to twist my explanations around and try trap me in them. I get inches away from screaming, “Stop acting like a fucking retard!!!” almost every lecture.

The irony of it all is that throughout high school and, only at times, while I was studying – I was the perfect example of a crap student. So the steep learning curve I’ve gone through this week is that, lecturing is rewarding in a lot of small ways, but ultimately a thankless job where you’rere probably mocked and berated mercilessly behind your back despite all your good intentions and hard work… As a new lecturer, I have a new-found respect for the profession and those that make it their lives to educate, contribute to the future success of others and overall improve society in their own small way. It truly is a noble and fine thing that they do. If I don’t say so myself…


a tribute to a tit.

As a bit of a tribute to a friend who is improving the lives of many men today, from her perspective she’s improving her own but I know she’s really being a humanitarian, I thought I would write about those things that fascinate and amuse us male of the species. From birth, with a short break when we think girls are disgusting but our boogers are just fine, to puberty, and from there on till death we are hooked. The Inuit people have something to the tune of 100 words for snow, understandable because 99% of the time they are surrounded by the shit. Men, in general, probably surpass that number even if just by making up stupid noises and gesturing, because frankly we are obsessed with the magic that is, boobs.

hypnotic, aren't they? tell me that's not magic!

You quickly realise how much these parts of the female anatomy matter to us men when you consider just how many names we give them and the endless array of descriptions we use to explain to our mates, in detail, just how awesome they are. I don’t condone men turning our female counterparts in to little more than sex objects that occasionally speak and have a hint of personality. Not at all. Women are wholly fascinating and at times completely confusing creatures that no man has ever managed to fully decipher. They deserve respect and at very least should be treated with a degree of caution. This is probably why we men focus in on your chest pillows so much, ladies. Unlike your minds, or peculiar ways, we can understand ta-tas. We like them. We want them. We have a clearly marked area that we need to pay special attention to. The reasons for all this are inconsequential. We have bars, magazines and most of the internet dedicated to those fun bags. Boobs of every imaginable shade, big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones, ones that you  never actually want to see, and ones you wish you could, but know in your heart you will have to pay for the pleasure, to see. In our tender teen years we fantasized endlessly about them and embarrassed ourselves for years just trying to get the briefest glimpse of cleavage or the tiniest feel of chesticles. The idea of actually laying our peepers on a real pair, with full view of nips, in person, drove our younger selves to blistering masturbation. I’m afraid not much changes as we get older. The skills we acquire through trial and error over the years help us not to embarrass ourselves quite as often but it still happens. Why, just the other day I lost myself while gazing for an inappropriate length of time upon a rather lovely pair in a low-cut black top, only to suddenly snap out of my trance and see that the owner of said lovely pair was glaring directly back at me with an expression of disgust and contempt, her boyfriend had a smirk on I wish I could have slapped off his smug face. Not being one for random violence, I just grinned and averted my eyes like a decent pervert. For future reference ladies, if you catch a guy doing that, stare at his crotch with a bemused look. It was done to me one night and I don’t think my ego has quite recovered from it yet.

even the ancients were mad about them. not much in the way of a face, but the boobs are sweet.

So, my mate is getting her boobs augmented, which if you’ve seen those shows that graphically document it, it is a god awful gruesome, painful procedure. I wouldn’t go through it for anything in the world.  I, like many guys, cringe at the idea of waxing my pubes never mind going through bloody, extreme surgery. Yet we all enjoy and rejoice the fact that ladies make their jugs even better. We come to think of it as normal. It’s extremely selfish of us to expect woman to go through all those discomforts, I think. So lads, I say the next time you see your lady-friend, girlfriend, wife, mistress, work colleague that you act inappropriately towards, and if you’re weird, your cousin or blood relative, give them your thanks, and thank them on behalf of men everywhere for making those bazoombas look better than what a god that doesn’t exist saw fit to bestow on them, and for occasionally sharing them, if not with you, some other lucky bastard. In fact, thank every woman you meet for putting up with our idiotic kind. We owe them that much at least for all the pain and discomfort they go through to look good for us. Although woman should probably take pity on us men. We may be intelligent enough of a species to be able dominate and control our environment to the extent that we have and fly to outer space, (today is the 50th anniversary of the first man in space, if you didn’t know) but we can’t get a handle on our titty fascination. There is small yet pervasive part of our brains, that when we suspect a glorious rack lurks below your blouse, we turn into drooling tools. If that isn’t worthy of pity, I don’t know what is.


Getting Your Wick Wet Is Easier Than Starting A Career.

Getting laid is easier than getting any decent job. This is probably why contracting a deadly sexual disease, is more common in Africa than starting a successful career. Now I know there are some very clever people in their spectacles, who can explain why this is. I don’t care what they have to say. They’re getting paid to sit around and come up with reasons why this is,  I have to sit around and contemplate it too because I live it. Not that I have any sexual diseases, but it is easier for my unemployed ass to get my wick wet than it is for me to gain meaningful employment. With whatever appeal I possess, I can charm my way in to girls’ knickers, but I can’t flirt my way in to a junior position at any agency. Which is basically like saying, “Hi, can I convince you to let my slightly drunk self prod about your sexy bits for an evening until I get bored or pass out, and then never call you, for absolutely no other reason than that I make you laugh occasionally.” works better than, “Please,  shaft me by exploiting me and my talents for 2 to 3 years until I’ve paid my dues and you can eventually take me seriously.”

I spent 7 years of my young adult life, after the 12 years of my proper youth going through school, studying with the ultimate illusion that I was making myself more employable. Did it work? Well after 12 months of being in the “real world” I’d have to say, not a fucking titty!

Now I’ve always been slightly unimpressed with the whole “rat race” lifestyle. It is by anyone’s standards an unattractive way of spending one’s healthy years. Struggling to hold on to your job, desperately trying to get ahead of your colleagues for that promotion, without suffering a stress induced heart attack or stroke. Reaching retirement with enough money, health and sanity left so that you can live out your old age in relative comfort. In the meantime having lived for the weekends, and those 2-week holidays that seem just like work because you’re compelled to use your “free” time for stuff you should enjoy doing but just end up tired. What a depressing prospect…

So I swallowed that nasty pill a few years ago and accepted that I’m probably not going to be as lucky as some and never have to work in my life. I took steps to joining that rat race with the most likelihood of success, but now to be suffering through the mental abuse of being turned down repeatedly for jobs I studied to do is starting to seem a bit thick on my part. All the time, money and effort expended getting me through college I could’ve used on far more interesting pursuits. Like developing a crippling drug addiction or travelling around the world. Hell, burning the thousands of Rands I spent on education would have served me better it would seem.

Worst thing is, who to blame? Do I blame those good intentioned folks that insisted I spend my youth preparing for later life that presumably included a long career? This industry, that seems to put up all manner of barriers preventing me from entering it? Those greedy capitalist banks that fucked the world’s economy into a recession so jobs are scarce? The receiver of my applications that only knows me as far as the contents of my CV and portfolio, but sees fit to delete it right there and then? Or have I got this all twisted, and I should just be blaming myself? My effort of trying to look and sound the part just isn’t enough. All I know is there isn’t much more I can do. I’ve already changed my portfolio three times this year, and applied to so many jobs that I’ve literally re-applied to some places as many as 3 times. At least they actually got back to me with a rejection letter, which is more than most places do. I considered that pretty polite.

Along with the frustration of being seemingly inept at securing a permanent paying job, I have to put up with my friends and family who try to point out the lighter side of unemployment. Suggesting I have all the free time in the world to do things they wish they could do. I will categorically declare that the small things in life that employed people value, like sleeping in, or being able pursue hobbies does not make up for the fact that I can’t put petrol in my car that is slowly falling apart in front of my eyes. Kindly keep your delusions of splendid times you’d be having sitting on your ass, to yourself…

Very soon I think I will become so bitter after all this rejection and failure that when a job does eventually come along, statistically it is impossible for me to stay jobless forever, I will probably spit in the potential employers face. I think that will give me more satisfaction than any job will.

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