Walking to the lunch kiosk today, I noticed one of the halls smelled strongly of a scent I hadn't sniffed since high school. It was a smell I will always and forever associate with dissecting fetal pigs.
I believe I was in 10th grade at the time, in biology class, obviously. We'd been looking forward to dissecting fetal pigs for most of the year. We were tired of dissecting worms and frogs, which we, quite frankly, considered amateur dissection projects that didn't provide us with enough biological matter to throw at one another.
But fetal pigs were another matter entirely. These things had size and heft. That, and you could manipulate their little fetal hooves so it looked like they were dancing little fetal jigs.
The fetal pigs were stored in five gallon plastic pails, filled with a liquid substance that we were assured wasn't formaldehyde. Whatever it was, it stung the nostrils like a swarm of olfactory bees. My lab partner, Chris, and I selected a nice, big, pink fetal pig from a bucket and set about pinning the pink porker down into the wax-filled dissection tray.
Quite frankly, Chris and I were very jealous of the lab pair sharing our table, because they had been selected as the only two who got to dissect a full-grown cat. That thing was AWESOME! It was all stretched out, paw to paw, with a look on its face indicating it was none too pleased at the time of its death, its mouth drawn back in a silent, eternal hiss. We named it Fluffy.
We dissected those animals for what seemed like forever, possibly weeks, meticulously locating the various systems of the body, like the digestive system, the respiratory system, the pulmonary system and so on.
When we finally got around to the nervous system, we were all itching to get done with the dissection, as we had all pretty much decided during the first week we didn't want to do it for a living. Still, I was still interested enough because I wanted to dissect the brain.
We were instructed to cut into our pig's brain, but when we did so, Chris and I were presented with something completely unexpected. Namely, our pig didn't have a brain. It had a SHELL of a brain: there was a fleshy brain-like sphere about as thin as a napkin, but there was nothing inside that sphere, except for air and whatever that stuff was that wasn't formaldehyde. It was a most perplexing development. All the other students were busy carving up their piggie brains, but there we stood, staring blankly at our pig's brain balloon.
When we finally spoke up about our brainless swine, our teacher was incredulous.
"What do you mean it doesn't have a brain? Of course it has a brain! How could it not have a brain?"
When the teacher came over to inspect our cerebrum-lacking project, he stood there for awhile, poking curiously at the brain balloon with a probe, not unlike when Darth Vader poked Obi Wan's empty cloak after striking him down.
"I've never seen anything like this," he said, and I was strangely relieved to know it wasn't a common occurence.
I was imagining an army of zombie-like brainless pigs, unknowingly being kept in farms nationwide, aimlessly bumping into fences, unable to even "oink." I couldn't help but think a brainless pig would no doubt make a noise to befit its brainless existence: something like "Drrrr" or "Duhhh."
In the end, the brainless pig was chalked up to a developmental mis-fire in the womb, and the pig, obviously, would never have survived birth, if it even lived at all during its time in the womb.
But I'm not so sure. Ever since that day, after my scalpel punctured that pig's brain balloon, exposing only air and an unknown preservative, I have my suspicions some pigs live long lives with that condition.
In fact, I don't think it's limited to pigs. It honestly helps explain a lot of the people I meet daily.
You know, the day after you eat Olestra-based Pringles, you're especially cautious when it comes to farting. Oh, sure, it FEELS like it's a fart; almost 100 percent positive it's all air pushing for freedom. But there's a lingering doubt, and for good reason.
Colman McCarthy: To battle the tradition of bullying
Child abuse receives ample amounts of public attention -- from the courts, the police, social workers and the media. Less noticed, though, are children abusing children. The National Association of School Psychologists reports that more than 5 million elementary, middle school and high school children are consistently bullied. More than 6 million frequently do the bullying. In the school of hard knocks, enrollment starts early with shaming, taunting, mocking, beating and intimidating.
Okay, look, I was bullied around in elementary and high school, but some of my greatest memories from that time revolved around me getting even with bullies. Also, if you can't deal with shaming, taunting, mocking and intimidation, then I'd argue you're not particularly well-equipped to deal with the real world. Beating? That's another issue, but I'd also like to know the author's definition of beating, because I don't think, for example, shoulder punches or purple nurples should qualify. But, hey, that's just me. Then again, I lived through the elementary schoolyard game of "Pecker Tag," which, believe me, toughens you up a bit.
To be darker, slower, fatter, thinner, weaker, quieter, poorer or different in any way but the prevailing way is to be vulnerable to the physical or emotional might of bullies. Fit in or be a misfit.
Oh, bullshit! Bullies exist to be bullies. Practically every bully I ever knew in my school years was eight million degrees removed from "the prevailing way," whatever the hell that was. Everyone knew who bullies were: they were the fuckers you tried to avoid like the plague.
How common is it? When I asked one of my recent college classes if anyone had ever been bullied, nearly all hands went up. Stories poured out. One student told of being bullied on the school bus while in the sixth grade. Those in higher grades forced her and her classmates to sit only in the front seats.
See, now, I wouldn't qualify that as bullying. Hazing, maybe. And, spare me the Rosa Parks analogies.
They were also ordered to open the windows during freezing weather, while the older students laughed at the shivering. When this student became a senior, she humiliated sixth graders the same way -- and enjoyed it. The tradition of bullying was carried on.
Wait a minute. Where the hell was the bus driver during this "bullying?" Because, in my experience with school bus drivers, they were about the most strict bastards in the entire school system. You couldn't squeak a fart without bringing about the wrath of the bus driver.
In 25 years of teaching courses on nonviolent conflict resolution -- to high school, college, law school students and prison inmates -- I've argued that violence is a learned behavior.
Yeah, people "learn" what they can get away with, and they exploit those cracks at every turn. In other news, bigger kids tend to realize they can bully and intimidate smaller/weaker kids for personal enjoyment. Those same bigger kids can be absolute angels at home and in the classroom.
Bullies aren't born, they are taught: often by peers, sometimes by the adults at home or coaches who berate their players during practices or games, and perhaps by living in a country like the United States that is perceived by much of the world as a global bully.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Who is this guy? Heaven forbid coaches berate players during practices or games. Many was the football/wrestling practice or game/match wherein the coach (in some cases, also my dad) told me to get my head out of my ass and concentrate. And you know what? In 99.9 percent of said incidents, the coaches were right, with the .01 percent of other incidents being a statistical anomaly. Oh, and I just LOVE how living in the United States can make one prone to being a bully. Having attended an international school in Tokyo, I can pretty confidently state that bullying is pretty much a global phenomenon that transcends race or country of origin. Being a dick is an international affliction.
If violence is learned, can empathy, kindness and tolerance also be learned?
Sure, but what the hell fun is that?
Yes. If taught well and taught consistently, those skills are as teachable as any others.
Fine, teach away. At the end of the day, Olaf the Hulk is still going to strongarm Eugene for his milk money.
A prime solution is exposing children in the early grades to the satisfaction of service to others. If parents, teachers and coaches encourage -- and demonstrate themselves -- reaching out to someone who needs help, a message is sent: We are a caring family, we are a caring school, we are a caring team.
Sure, we haven't had a winning record in over three decades, but we lead the league in group hugs and positive thinking. Competing teams can't wait to play us, because we're a cake-walk bunch of pussies, but at least we can say: "we tried, and we care, and please set the bone correctly so it grows back together right."
Be a part of it. Whether the service is as basic as clearing the table after dinner or as large as volunteering at Special Olympics, chances increase that a child will become less self-centered and more other-centered.
Hey, I cleared the table as a child! I was part of it!
A second antibullying strategy is for schools to schedule regular class meetings and student assemblies where children are encouraged to speak freely about their fears or anxieties.
Oh, right, yes, let's have our children expose their fears and anxieties to those bullies smacking their lips, waiting in the crowd. Bra-vo. Good plan. Has this guy ever existed in the real world? School assemblies provide a smorgasbord of information for those specializing in shame and intimidation. You may as well just ask the younger and weaker students to stand up and punch themselves in the groin to save time.
Children's feelings of powerlessness increase when they feel emotionally isolated and think they have no voice. They become loners, withdrawn and easy marks for bullies.
Uh huh, and having Felix stand up in front of a school assembly, telling everyone how he thinks the poop monster is waiting under his bed to get him is just SO going to help matters.
Class meetings can empower children to step in when they see bullies at work, by telling the victimizer to lay off. Group disapproval can be potent.
Actually, I thrive on group disapproval. Seriously, bullies don't give a flying fuck what other people think. THEY'RE BULLIES! They know they're bullies. They know that being a bully is supposedly a bad thing. And, yet, they still choose to be bullies! Gosh, it's almost as if they see some sort of benefit to being a bully.
Bullies themselves are likely to know, deep down, that they are essentially unhappy.
Oh, right, yeah. Actually, bullies are likely to know, deep down, that they enjoy intimidating others.
In "Reclaiming Our Children," Dr. Peter Breggin, a Bethesda, Maryland, psychiatrist, writes that a bully is also injured by his behavior: he "learns methods that not only harm other people, but will also backfire on him in adult life, when abuse and violence ruin his family life, alienate other adults, result in job loss, and lead to criminal convictions."
In order, the three biggest bullies of my childhood are today: a lawyer, an IT administrator, and a high school teacher, all of whom have very nice families and, by all accounts, lead pretty admirable lives. Yet, growing up, they were some of the biggest damned assholes I could imagine, at least until puberty kicked in and the playing field evened out a little bit.
It would help if schools themselves decreased academic bullying, as found in the current testing mania of No Child Left Untested. I know of no meaningful evidence that acing tests has anything to do with students' character development or whether their natural instincts for idealism or altruism are nurtured.
Academic bullying? ACADEMIC BULLYING?!! Honest to fucking God, WHO IS THIS GUY? Oh, and hey, did you know you're born with natural instincts for idealism and altruism? Hey, Colman McCarthy says so, so it must be true. That is, unless Colman McCarthy is bullying us through academic bullying or somesuch twaddle.
As imposed on public schools by testocrats in the federal Department of Education, excessive testing is an abuse of power over the weak -- the basic definition of bullying.
Now this article is just descending into parody. My qualms with standardized testing notwithstanding, what is it, exactly, Colman McCarthy would have us do: Just let students, you know, mellow and follow their own muse, man, because that's how you go with the flow and don't have to follow the dictates of THE MAN, you know?
No school, no family and no community is without flaws, but none of that justifies allowing the ethic of domination and competition to persist.
Do away with competition! Stop competing! Of course, that would pretty much spell the end of societal innovation and advancement, but hey, there are always drawbacks.
When parents or teachers obsess about academic or athletic excellence, the pressured child may seek refuge in becoming a dominator. This blossoms into get-aheadism, with bullying a way to cull the competition.
Man, this guy is a front-runner for "Pussy of the World." Or at least "Mr. Clueless 2007." Either way, I guess it's not surprising the Star-Tribune decided to run this non-sensical dreck.
If the pattern starts early, so should confronting it. I think it was Maria Montessori, and it usually is, who said: It is easier to build a peaceful child than repair a violent adult.
And it's easier to rip apart Colman McCarthy's nonsense than it is for Colman McCarthy to write a thought-provoking opinion piece.
Colman McCarthy, a former Washington Post columnist, directs the Center for Teaching Peace in Washington, D.C. He is speaking Thursday afternoon and evening, and Friday morning, at the upper campus of Carondolet Catholic School, 3210 W. 51st St., Minneapolis.
No bullies allowed.
UPDATE: LearnedFoot has discovered possible runners up for the "Pussy of the World" contest.
I was recently tasked with writing a definition for "Web 2.0." While researching the topic, I came across the following YouTube video, which does a far better job explaining the concept behind Web 2.0 than I have a prayer of conveying.
People come to it from Answers.com looking for the answer to that age-old question: How long does it take fart gas to travel to someone else's nose?
I also think it's awesome how Answers.com helpfully redirects by asking: Did you mean "How long does it take to get over someone?"
I think the two questions are probably somehow related.
There's been a bit of a furor developing as of late in the Twin Cities, wherein some taxi drivers, citing infringements on their Muslim beliefs, have refused service to customers brandishing alcoholic beverages and, in more extreme cases, refusing service to blind people brandishing alcoholic guide dogs. Or maybe they were just regular guide dogs. I honestly don't read the news that closely.
The taxi cab kerfuffle was followed in short order by another kerfuffle, this time involving Target retail check out clerks, citing infringements on their Muslim beliefs, refusing to scan grocery items containing pork.
amazingly, Target reassigned those Muslim cashiers refusing to ring up pork products to other jobs, and there are those saying cab drivers are within their rights to refuse service to customers brandishing alcohol or dogs.
As a Thunderjournalist, I have an obligation to have an opinion about these assorted kerfuffles, and my opinion is this: I'm outraged.
I'm primarily outraged because I didn't think of any of these ideas first. As a journalist, I'm constantly on the lookout for ways to not do my job. Oh, sure, I tout myself as a writer and gatherer of newsy items, but deep down I'd really rather not be working at all. I work practically 24/7 thinking of ways to better avoid actually working.
For example, during my first stint as a newspaper reporter, I used to dial my own office number, and then quickly hang up, so my phone would ring. I'd then answer the phone, in a very professional manner, so everyone in the newsroom would notice, and I'd pretend to take notes on a very professional-looking notepad. I'd then wrap up the fake phone call, and dash out of the newsroom, leaving everyone thinking I was going out in hot pursuit of a news lead. In actuality, I'd drive out to a very secluded spot I staked out a few weeks earlier, shut off my car, recline my seat, and take a nap for about an hour. I'm a very dedicated journalist.
Hence my outrage regarding the recent news events detailing how certain Muslims have managed to avoid doing their jobs based on their Muslim beliefs. I mean, seriously, how come I didn't think of that? I'm so outraged at myself for not coming up with this idea first, I can barely stand it.
Here I've been coming up with elaborate schemes to avoid doing work, when all this time I only had to say "work is against my beliefs," or something along those lines. All I have to do is come up with a system of beliefs that go entirely against my work requirements and, *snap,* this politically-correct culture we live in will dutifully proclaim I should continue to be paid for not doing my job because, well, who are they to question my beliefs?
So, let me just come up with a personal belief system. Give me a moment.
*a moment*
You know what? I've just now decided the written word goes against my beliefs. I very deeply believe the written word is an unclean medium by which to communicate. Communication should be limited only to verbal intonations or hand gestures, according to my very strict belief structure, which I just now came up with.
In fact, I'm horribly offended by my very act of continuing to write these words. With each passing keystroke, I honestly believe I'm becoming progressively unclean, which is really saying something, considering I didn't even shower this morning. Here I am, working in a profession that goes completely against my cherished and strongly-held system of beliefs.
I suppose I could quit my job, and perhaps seek employment in a non-writing capacity. That would be the most obvious course of action. But, you know what? Why should I? I think it would be discriminatory to expect me to find employment more in line with my beliefs? I think I should be paid to not write. I should be able to sit here, all day, in strict adherence to my beliefs, resisting the urge to dabble in the written word. And I should be paid quite handsomely for my noble non-writing efforts.
That said, if you need me, I'll be at a certain secluded spot, taking a nap.
