Showing posts with label oh my. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oh my. Show all posts

Thursday, May 23, 2013

May 23: Professors and Doctors and Georges, Oh My!

...The worst part was, the jerk had one of those very phony, Ivy League voices, one of those very tired, snobby voices.  He sounded like a girl.  He didn't hesitate to horn in on my date, the bastard.  I even thought for a minute that he was going to get in the goddam cab with us when the show was over, because he walked about two blocks with us, but he had to meet a bunch of phonies for cocktails, he said.  I could see them all sitting around in some bar, with their goddam checkered vests, criticizing shows and books and women in those tired, snobby voices.  They kill me, those guys.

I know people like the guy Holden is talking about.  Self-important, privileged, ego maniacs.  The guy Holden describes is a friend of Sally, his date.  An Andover student, "George" embodies everything Holden holds in contempt.  To be honest, I can't blame Holden for hating this person.

I've worked with surgeons and university professors for most of my professional life.  A lot of them were normal, down-to-earth people.  A few of them have even become good friends of mine.  However, I have known a few Georges, as well.

Like Holden, I have little patience for people who thumb their PhD's or M.D.'s at me.  Recently, I have become aware of a small group of colleagues who seem to think their advanced degrees give them the right to bully and humiliate anybody they want.  I literally heard one of them say at a recent meeting, "I encourage you to earn a PhD, put yourself out on the international job market, get an on-campus visit, interview, and then land a job like the rest of us."  Yes, this person made obtaining a tenured position at a university sound like some hero's quest for the Golden Fleece.  And his answer for people who don't have the means or opportunity to pursue this course of action:  "Get out of academia and get a different job."  It was ludicrous and insulting.

A surgeon I know will frequently take the time before or after surgeries to discuss his opinions of over-paid public school teachers, lower-income African Americans, overweight patients on public assistance, and children with learning deficits.  I have even seen him berate a terrified high school student about his tax dollars paying for her education.  This gentleman thinks the world owes him instant respect and attention simply because he is fortunate enough to work in a high-paying profession and has the term "Dr." in front of his name.

I was discussing this very subject over dinner with a good friend from the university.  He and I both come from similar, blue collar backgrounds.  Before my friend earned his MFA, he worked in the food industry for many years.  He knows how lucky he is to have a job that pays him to talk about books and movies and writing he loves.  "Shit," he said, "I'd be doing the same thing drinking with my friends."  He and I both know we are privileged to be able to do the things we do.  Teaching at the university isn't our God-give right or duty.  We don't "deserve" it because we spent a few extra years in college.  We're lucky, and we know it.

All the Georges of the world have never progressed beyond an insular, middle-school mentality.  They are the bullies of the playground.  They eat the best grilled cheese sandwiches.  They wear the best high tops.  They go to ski lodges for Christmas vacation.  And they talk the loudest, because everyone should know how important they are.

And I simply have no time for them.

That's a piece of Saint Marty's mind.

This is a bully free blog.  Unless your name is George.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

July 5: Presents and Parties and Fireworks, Oh My!

Yes, you read correctly.  I did include the word "fireworks" as part of my title, yet again.  You see, last night, the July 4th fireworks got cancelled due to the rain.  (My wife and daughter also got drenched and had to huddle under a tree during a lightning storm.)  Therefore, the fireworks are rescheduled for tonight.  As of an hour or so ago, things look like they're on track.  After 5 p.m., there is a 0% chance of precipitation in the forecast.

The problem now is that we have to go to a birthday party this evening, as well.  That kind of sucks.  The temperature is pushing ninety degrees, and the last thing I want to do is go to a house filled with sweaty people and sing "Happy Birthday."  It's for my nephew's 18th birthday, and he has officially reached the "all he wants is cash" stage.  Frankly, when kids reach that stage, I reach the "I only want to send a card" stage.  However, I will dutifully show up at my sister-in-law's house; watch my nephew open his envelopes of cash like a scene out of one of the Godfather films; and then see my nephew disappear with his friends to spend his newly acquired cash.

The party itself will be hot and uncomfortable, unless it's held in the backyard.  If it is held in the backyard, I'll guarantee that my son will end up stepping in a pile of dog crap.  At t the very least, I'm hoping for some barbecued bratwurst.  It's the only thing that will salvage the entire affair for me.

Then, at dusk, my wife, daughter, son, and I will be sitting on a blanket, which will still be damp from yesterday's deluge, and watch the fireworks.  My son's first fireworks.  Hopefully, I will be able to get all the dog crap off his shoe by the time of the rocket's red glare.

Saint Marty is trying to remain positive.

Oh-oh, say can you see...