Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Everything I know about politics, I learned from my English 20 class
In grade eleven, I had an English teacher. We'll call her John Updike, because she happens to share a name with a famous author (Colleen McCullough) but I want to give her a pseudonym as part of my ongoing lawsuit avoidance program.
Anyway, Ms. Updike, though a Canadian, had just returned from teaching in Texas, where she had picked up something of an accent. I'm not sure that this fact will turn out to be relevant to anything else in this entry, but it might be, so you'd best remember it. She and I also didn't see eye to eye on a lot of issues, such as the issue of whether or not she was qualified to be teaching English 20.
She used to give us "vocabulary tests," in which she would give us a list of words whose definitions we had to know by the end of the week, when she would read them out in class and we'd have to write down definitions. Unfortunately, she wasn't clear on a lot of their proper uses herself. For example, she defined "guile" as meaning "cunning," which is all very well and good provided that you mean the form of the word cunning that is a noun. She didn't, repeatedly using it in sample sentences as an adjective.
Anyway, the points that I'm trying to get across with this introduction are as follows:
1. Ms. Updike was dumb; and
2. I didn't like her.
That said, she did manage to teach me a lot of valuable lessons the use of which I continue to make in this crazy little thing called my political career. To wit:
1. Say what you think. Always.
Since, as I mentioned, Ms. Updike was neither a competent linguist nor a competent instructor. She tended to treat us like grade three students a lot of the time, which I initially took to be condascension but which I eventually realized was the extent of her qualifications. Anyway, one day - a Thursday - a mother of one of the students called her to complain abot this. Ms. Updike's calm, measured, and mature response was to come storming into class on the Friday to say "If you don't want to be treated like children, maybe I should make you work like adults. There's an essay due on Monday. In this essay, you must defend the point of view that the number 4 has special significance in Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club." Those of you who have read the book will doubtless appreciate that this is the most retarded essay topic imagainable, but we all stormed dutifully home to put together our essays.
Mine - which I still have on my hard drive, under the filename TexBitch.doc - opens with the line "That the number 4 is especially significant in Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club can scarcely be disputed." "What a crock," I thought to myself as I wrote this, "that the number 4 is especially significant in Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club can scarcely be defended." Nevertheless, I handed in this masterwork of artifice the Monday morning, along with everybody else.
Once all of our essays were in hand, a look of smugness crossed her face - not unlike a cow finished with her cud - and she took out a magazine clipping. On this magazine clipping was a quote from Amy Tan acknowledging that the number four held no special significance in the book.
"Well," she gloated, "I'll be anxious to see what you all think of your essays now."
the moral of the story - to the extent that it exists - is that if I'd just gone ahead and said what I thought, I would have been right. Instead, I fell into her calculated trap to make me look stupid. Lesson learned.
2. Always cast yourself as a moderate - relatively speaking
In my English class were a couple of guys names Jarradt Seier and Brendan Andrews. That is to say, there were two guys total, one with each of the aforementioned names. Anyway, as much of a dink as Ms. Updike thought I was, relative to them I was Jesus, but better-groomed.
True exchange between Ms. Updike and Brendan, while Brendan is talking during somebody else's presentation:
Updike: Shut up, Brendan, we had to listen to your crap yesterday.
Brendan: We've had to listen to your crap all year!
Rest of class: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Brendan and Jarradt also, when charged with doing a class presentation on Chinese funeral customs, included a video that contrasted these funeral customs with funeral customs in Nazi Germany. There was a lot of gasoline involved.
Anyway, by always associating myself with Brendan and Jerradt, I seemed more reasonable by comparison. I believe that Yassar Arafat employs a similar strategy.
How does that apply to my political career? Well, I hang around with Mustafa a lot.
3. Never admit you're in a position of weakness
The last class before Christmas, Ms. Updike asked to speak to me after class. As it turned out, she wanted to show me an unsatisfactory conduct report she had been putting together on me for the past couple of months. It contained a whole bunch of quotes taken out of context, misrepresentations of fact, and undefended and vague assertions which, if impossible to prove, were equally impossible to shoot disprove. Needless to say, I was impressed.
"Wow," I commented, "I guess you're more guile than I have you credit for."
Ms. Updike beamed malevolently.
"I hope you won't take this personally," she said, "it's a chance for you to improve yourself. Call it tough love."
"What a shame,though," I continued," if I'd known that we were exchanging unsatisfactory conduct reports, I'd have brought the one that I've been putting together on you. And it must be a lot of work putting together so many unsatisfactory conduct reports."
"So many?" she asked, a little confused.
"Well, if you've put one together for me, I can think of at least three or four other people you must also be writing up. After all, being as guile as you are I'm sure you realize how easy it would be for me to accuse you of some sort of irrational personal bias if only I got one."
She never submitted the thing. If she had, I would have been screwed.
4. If they offer you an inch, take a yard
During vocab tests, Ms. Updike would let us ask her about proper spelling. I was fond of also asking her about the proper definition - not "what does that word mean, again?" but rather "is that the one that means 'cunning'?" Strangely, she never penalized me for giving the answers to her precious quizzes out loud. Equally strangely, some people still managed not to ace them.
5. Always take the good lines for yourself
We had to do a group presentation of some kind, and the group's more artistic members had graciously agreed to put together all of the visual aids. This left me to write the actual presentation parts.
"Steve," complained one of my group members, "you gave yourself all of the good lines."
Well duh.
Oh, and Ms. Updike, if you're reading this, I hope there are no hard feelings over the part I played in ensuring that your contract wasn't renewed. Call it tough love.
|
In grade eleven, I had an English teacher. We'll call her John Updike, because she happens to share a name with a famous author (Colleen McCullough) but I want to give her a pseudonym as part of my ongoing lawsuit avoidance program.
Anyway, Ms. Updike, though a Canadian, had just returned from teaching in Texas, where she had picked up something of an accent. I'm not sure that this fact will turn out to be relevant to anything else in this entry, but it might be, so you'd best remember it. She and I also didn't see eye to eye on a lot of issues, such as the issue of whether or not she was qualified to be teaching English 20.
She used to give us "vocabulary tests," in which she would give us a list of words whose definitions we had to know by the end of the week, when she would read them out in class and we'd have to write down definitions. Unfortunately, she wasn't clear on a lot of their proper uses herself. For example, she defined "guile" as meaning "cunning," which is all very well and good provided that you mean the form of the word cunning that is a noun. She didn't, repeatedly using it in sample sentences as an adjective.
Anyway, the points that I'm trying to get across with this introduction are as follows:
1. Ms. Updike was dumb; and
2. I didn't like her.
That said, she did manage to teach me a lot of valuable lessons the use of which I continue to make in this crazy little thing called my political career. To wit:
1. Say what you think. Always.
Since, as I mentioned, Ms. Updike was neither a competent linguist nor a competent instructor. She tended to treat us like grade three students a lot of the time, which I initially took to be condascension but which I eventually realized was the extent of her qualifications. Anyway, one day - a Thursday - a mother of one of the students called her to complain abot this. Ms. Updike's calm, measured, and mature response was to come storming into class on the Friday to say "If you don't want to be treated like children, maybe I should make you work like adults. There's an essay due on Monday. In this essay, you must defend the point of view that the number 4 has special significance in Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club." Those of you who have read the book will doubtless appreciate that this is the most retarded essay topic imagainable, but we all stormed dutifully home to put together our essays.
Mine - which I still have on my hard drive, under the filename TexBitch.doc - opens with the line "That the number 4 is especially significant in Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club can scarcely be disputed." "What a crock," I thought to myself as I wrote this, "that the number 4 is especially significant in Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club can scarcely be defended." Nevertheless, I handed in this masterwork of artifice the Monday morning, along with everybody else.
Once all of our essays were in hand, a look of smugness crossed her face - not unlike a cow finished with her cud - and she took out a magazine clipping. On this magazine clipping was a quote from Amy Tan acknowledging that the number four held no special significance in the book.
"Well," she gloated, "I'll be anxious to see what you all think of your essays now."
the moral of the story - to the extent that it exists - is that if I'd just gone ahead and said what I thought, I would have been right. Instead, I fell into her calculated trap to make me look stupid. Lesson learned.
2. Always cast yourself as a moderate - relatively speaking
In my English class were a couple of guys names Jarradt Seier and Brendan Andrews. That is to say, there were two guys total, one with each of the aforementioned names. Anyway, as much of a dink as Ms. Updike thought I was, relative to them I was Jesus, but better-groomed.
True exchange between Ms. Updike and Brendan, while Brendan is talking during somebody else's presentation:
Updike: Shut up, Brendan, we had to listen to your crap yesterday.
Brendan: We've had to listen to your crap all year!
Rest of class: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Brendan and Jarradt also, when charged with doing a class presentation on Chinese funeral customs, included a video that contrasted these funeral customs with funeral customs in Nazi Germany. There was a lot of gasoline involved.
Anyway, by always associating myself with Brendan and Jerradt, I seemed more reasonable by comparison. I believe that Yassar Arafat employs a similar strategy.
How does that apply to my political career? Well, I hang around with Mustafa a lot.
3. Never admit you're in a position of weakness
The last class before Christmas, Ms. Updike asked to speak to me after class. As it turned out, she wanted to show me an unsatisfactory conduct report she had been putting together on me for the past couple of months. It contained a whole bunch of quotes taken out of context, misrepresentations of fact, and undefended and vague assertions which, if impossible to prove, were equally impossible to shoot disprove. Needless to say, I was impressed.
"Wow," I commented, "I guess you're more guile than I have you credit for."
Ms. Updike beamed malevolently.
"I hope you won't take this personally," she said, "it's a chance for you to improve yourself. Call it tough love."
"What a shame,though," I continued," if I'd known that we were exchanging unsatisfactory conduct reports, I'd have brought the one that I've been putting together on you. And it must be a lot of work putting together so many unsatisfactory conduct reports."
"So many?" she asked, a little confused.
"Well, if you've put one together for me, I can think of at least three or four other people you must also be writing up. After all, being as guile as you are I'm sure you realize how easy it would be for me to accuse you of some sort of irrational personal bias if only I got one."
She never submitted the thing. If she had, I would have been screwed.
4. If they offer you an inch, take a yard
During vocab tests, Ms. Updike would let us ask her about proper spelling. I was fond of also asking her about the proper definition - not "what does that word mean, again?" but rather "is that the one that means 'cunning'?" Strangely, she never penalized me for giving the answers to her precious quizzes out loud. Equally strangely, some people still managed not to ace them.
5. Always take the good lines for yourself
We had to do a group presentation of some kind, and the group's more artistic members had graciously agreed to put together all of the visual aids. This left me to write the actual presentation parts.
"Steve," complained one of my group members, "you gave yourself all of the good lines."
Well duh.
Oh, and Ms. Updike, if you're reading this, I hope there are no hard feelings over the part I played in ensuring that your contract wasn't renewed. Call it tough love.
