Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Blargh

I haven't been around much due to situational depression, caused by realizing that school starts this week and I haven't even registered. Nor do I want to. As longtime readers know, I hate school. Loathe it. Wouldn't go at all if American business owners hadn't decided at some point that everyone without at least an undergraduate degree (and quite a few people with) deserves to work at Wal-mart or a call center or, since these jobs pay for shit, BOTH.

Anyway, I can't register online because I have to go through advisement. The first college to axe its academic advising department will be the one I bequeath all my money to, if I ever have any, because academic advising is bullshit. Oh, I know the purpose: It's to prevent a lot of arguments from seniors who think they're supposed to graduate that semester but aren't going to, because they didn't read the catalog correctly and they're missing n credits of their core requirements, or their major electives, or what have you. Supposedly, seeing an academic advisor (otherwise known as "the lady who signs my registration form so I can go home and register online like a fucking normal person") prevents this, because your academic advisor is supposed to helpfully point out that underwater basketweaving does not, by itself, fullfill your arts and humanities requirement.

But as someone who has stood in long lines outside an advisor's office listening to these fuckheads who think they're due to graduate when they are not, I can tell you that these arguments STILL HAPPEN. This is because academic advisors don't actually advise you about anything. They just thank heaven you're not there to argue about graduation and sign the fucking form. It's a formality or, as I like to think of it, a complete waste of my time.

I'm 37 years old, is what I'm saying. Let me take second-semester Spanish without this fake-advisement rigamarole.

So I have to go down to the school today. That's the first thing I'm disgusted about.

The second thing I'm disgusted about is the internet phenomenon known as Jacqueline Mackie Paisley Passey--JMPP for short because I am NOT typing that out again. Two names are enough for the rest of us, Jacquie. Get with the program.

I thought discussion of JMPP's dating criteria would last, you know, a day or two. But I forgot something! I forgot that JMPP is a chick. Any response to her must be disproportionate. Or: Somebody please tell me the last time a man posted an equally absurd list (and don't tell me that doesn't happen; that page by The Nice Guy is basically one long list of "dont's" for potential partners, i.e., "don't ask me for help setting up your computer and then refuse to fuck me") and got THIS MUCH SHIT for it. It's never happened, because people just laugh those guys off without questioning their rights to have criteria. The people knocking JMPP are only partly angry that her criteria are ridiculous; they're mostly angry that she has criteria and had the nerve to say so.

Don't argue with me about this. People don't get this vitriolic over shit this stupid unless it fundamentally upsets the order of society in some way, and a woman saying "Sorry, but you're just not good enough for me" will always do exactly that, especially when she makes it clear that, actually, she's not sorry at all. In fact fuck you, ugly losers. Try mail-order brides.

Anyway, thanks to JMPP fever I was treated to--well:

Look, I want to make it clear I'm not saying this girl is ugly, per se. What she is is "plain." She is what I call "Bad Irish." The Irish look, but not the Good Irish look. The pasty skin, the elfin features... but not cute elfin, or better yet, hot elfin.

What you're looking at here is a 5. A girl you wouldn't notice in the average college or singles bar, except maybe if you had recently quit smoking, and noticed she had a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds held in her (indifferent) cleavage.

Jacquie needs to grow her some bangs to cover that high forehead. I'll grant you that. But a 5? Oh, wait. It seems we have further explanation as to how this value was derived:

I'd hit it, I admit, but there are different levels of "I'd hit it."

She comes somewhere on the "I'd hit it" scale between "I'd hit it, but only if it were 3am and I was drunk and really needed somewhere to crash for the night" and "I'd hit it, but only if she walked right up to me, grabbed my hog with both hands, and screamed to the bar, 'I claim this Man-Thing as mine own!!' and then vowed to fight any challengers to the death with Vulcan axe-spears."

Let that sink in. Then, consider the source:




Who CARES who this guy would hit? Why am I reading an Ewok's explanation of the difference between "bad Irish" and "good Irish?" Seriously, answer those questions in a way that does not boil down to m-a-l-e e-n-t-i-t-l-e-m-e-n-t, I dare you.

The third thing I'm disgusted about was already aptly summarized here, by Tekjani. I can't add much except to say, remember when I complained a little about Grand Theft Auto: Vice City? Here's my lengthy list of things you'd have to change to make that a more, uh, "girl-friendly" game to me:

  • Don't reward the player for killing hookers and stealing their dough.


  • Seriously, that's about it. You could even leave the stripper scene in, or the part where Tommy yells at the pr0n flick director to "keep the camera pointed at the poontang." I mean, I didn't really dig that part, no, but I could overlook it.

    I don't need pink games; I just need games that don't towel-snap me in the face with the message that I am not part of that game's target market and maybe shouldn't be playing it at all--maybe I should be in the kitchen fixing a tray of nachos while my man plays it, in fact. Or hey, there's always laundry! A man can always use more clean boxers for his jimmy.

    UPDATE: Registration is never as bad at this school as I think it is going to be. So why do I keep working myself into such a state over the whole thing? Because I was scarred for life by the hate-filled bureaucracy known as the University of Texas at Arlington. Their slogan? "Students Come First." I saw a lot of stickers around campus that said so. Several of them even bore an appended clarification in felt-tip: "FOR ASS-FUCKING."

    Basically the job of every employee at UT-Arlington is to reduce each student to a sobbing, incoherent puddle of misery who knows all the words to this song. Every employee of UT-Arlington is fantastically good at his or her job.

    The result is that I cannot register for classes without my boyfriend. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. In this respect he functions like a seeing-eye dog. He tells me where to park the car and where we need to go and when we walk up to the desks of various secretaries he's the one who says, "Uh, she's trying to register, but we think she has an advisement hold? Do you know who she needs to talk to in order to clear that?" (My job during all this is to stand there, shaking in fear, without crying.)

    Then he gives 'em my ID number, and they look it up, and then they tell us the wrong office in the wrong building, and we go through this a couple more times, and then eventually, finally, we find the advisor's office, and by then I can kind of, sort of articulate my problem without bursting into tears, so I do, and then the advisor turns out to be very, very nice and maybe even the type who would actually give advice? But I don't press it, because I just want to get out of there and go home.

    And then, because I've put this off for so long, I find there are no Spanish II classes open, so I sign up for a class in compilers. Compilers. I couldn't write "Hello, world" in Pascal, or even Visual Basic, if you put a gun to my head right now--that's how long it's been since I've done anything remotely computer-science-related. But I'm going to take a class in motherfucking compilers. Because I am insane.

    In the event I have forgotten to mention it lately, I hate school.

    12 comments:

    Darleen said...

    actually the thing that made me roll my eyes at Jmpp's post with the list was it wasn't about having "criteria" but she was measuring herself against other women and then saying "see, I'm not a fat, ugly, old, female with children who believes in God...I'm SO much better!"

    ::sigh:::

    It just takes me right smack back to junior high when the "popular" girl gathered her admirers into an exclusive circle and held court viciously running down all the "outsiders"...especially any other girl that her highness deemed "competition".

    I don't see JMPP as someone "unafraid" to state her wants, I see her as a 7th grade bully.

    YMMV

    Sigivald said...

    GTA rewards you more for killing pimps - they have more money. For that matter, you're rewarded for killing anyone in GTA.

    How about equal opportunity - male hookers?

    ilyka said...

    For that matter, you're rewarded for killing anyone in GTA.

    This is true. It's what I liked about it so much. When I'd get frustrated by some stupid mission I wasn't completing--well, time to send Tommy into the streets with the chainsaw! Or maybe off to the beach with the flamethrower. So many people! So many ways to make them all die.

    Probably not the healthiest game in the world, but oh well. Even I get bored with The Sims from time to time.

    John said...

    If you think the undergraduate registrars are pricks, just wait until you have to deal with graduate ones.

    Helena Handbasket said...

    The funniest thing about the Ewok's post was all the guys in the comment thread saying how they'd never, ever date jmpp, and that's why she was blogging about men who weren't good enough for her.

    Dude! She's written a whole essay about why she wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole if you came free with a complimentary set of steak-knives! It's not meant to be a craft way to get you hot! If you don't want to hit on her, she probably thinks she's achieved her aim!

    ilyka said...

    The funniest thing about the Ewok's post was all the guys in the comment thread saying how they'd never, ever date jmpp, and that's why she was blogging about men who weren't good enough for her.

    But, Helena, women are irrational. Probably on accounta their different brains.

    Helen said...

    Babe, the man blogged about how a man having two penises would have one removed and sewn on to the other to double the length as "hot".

    His Bad Irish take surprises you why?

    And UTA? When I get alumni emails from them I laugh and put them in the spam folder. I remember battling the sociology/anthropology department and losing because of shite GTAs-whose recommendations I followed and due to their crap directions my last semester in college saw me taking 4 PE classes.

    I nearly grew gills.

    ilyka said...

    His Bad Irish take surprises you why?

    I'm hopelessly naive and I have a blind spot for funny, which he used to be, before the misogyny took over.

    It's like the difference between Eddie Murphy: Delirious and Eddie Murphy: Raw. Delirious is funny; Raw is sour. I remember watching a video of Raw way back when and going, oh my sainted aunt, what happened to this guy? He let the bitterness take over, that's what happened.

    A lot of great comedy is born of pain, but comes a point when you as the audience are just like, "No, that's ONLY pain, no funny." I'd rather deal with a depressed emo kid than a guy who attempts to mask his rage in funny and doesn't quite succeed at it. That kind of mask-slippage is too horrifying to be funny.

    Alecto Erinyes said...
    This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
    Helena Handbasket said...

    Oh, I would have realised that, except my huge prefrontal cortex and humungeous anterior cingulate cortex interfered with my rational thought - you know, the way they do.

    Craig R. said...

    OK, I admit it.

    I'm a geek.

    And I had *fun* in compiler design class.

    As for Jmpp, I hope she finds the person she is looking for - they will likely fit right together.

    I think that makes sense.

    I wouldn't be a match for her standards, and I can't get past the commoditization that blatant -- I don't like it when men do it ("Yeah, I'd hit on that, if...") and I don't like it when women do it ("yeah, I'd let him hit on me if...").

    I think what frustrates me more is that I feel like she views it as "I'd let him hit on me" rather than "I'd hit on him."

    ilyka said...

    And I had *fun* in compiler design class.

    Okay, that cheered me right up, Craig, thanks. I need to remember that I used to enjoy this stuff immensely, before I stupidly got into the outskirts of telecom and telecom went boom. Or bust, rather.

    I think what frustrates me more is that I feel like she views it as "I'd let him hit on me" rather than "I'd hit on him."

    Good point--I hadn't considered that, but yeah. She's certainly an equal-opportunity objectifier, is J-Pimp. Kind of reminds me of the old Waitresses song:

    I know what boys like,
    I know what guys want
    They want to touch me
    I never let them


    I always used to hear that and think "Girl, why NOT?"