Before I recently dropped out, I was in the Distinguished Majors Program for English. This was surprising for everyone, as I am majoring in physics and the longest word I can spell correctly is 'Jell-O.' This lack of writing skills is tough on my editors, who keep threatening to fire me unless I start using capital letters and/or English characters.
I'm just kidding. The most I know about physics is that it started with a guy named "Newton" who ate either a fig or an apple and fell out of paradise at 9.8 meters per second squared. I actually am majoring in English. Please don't laugh at me. Many important people were English majors -- Socrates, Joan of Arc, Steve from "Blue's Clues" -- and they all went on to fame and fortune. Of course, the first two were executed, and Steve probably won't break that trend. Nonetheless, the English major is relatively safe, and I don't understand why so many people mock it. I especially dislike the stereotype that all male English majors are scrawny bookworms who would prefer reading Jane Austen to having sex. I take offense to that. I am not scrawny.
Anyway, last year I applied for the Distinguished Majors Program. As with most DMPs, this involves writing a 40-60 page thesis about an academic topic, which could potentially provide me with the accolade of "distinction," "high distinction" or "highest distinction" upon graduating. My topic was, strangely enough, humor. I was going to study humor in an interdisciplinary way, looking at its roots in Greek comedies, its presence in 18th century satires and its perfection and culmination in the sitcom "Two and a Half Men."
I had applied to the program because I thought an independent study course would be great -- no class, no tests, no having to wake up at 9 a.m. for a 9:30 class, only to fall back asleep and wake up almost in time for midnight. Plus, writing has always been easy for me, so I knew I could write forty pages in a matter of hours, provided I had quick access to beer.
I was severely wrong in this idealized thinking, though; for this year, the program implemented a seminar for the DMP thesis writers. All 12 students had to meet once a week to discuss and edit each others' works. The class operated on the peer pressure system. I worked hard because I feared being mocked by my peers for misspelling relatively easy words like 'the.' This meant I spent much time reading and editing my writing, until I was sure the only mistake someone could find was that my piece was not written in English.
This pressure was awful and worsened because of the intimidating seminar teacher. It was not a physical intimidation -- indeed, she reminded me of a cute squirrel, both in facial features and her tendency to hoard acorns. Her intimidation stemmed from her intensity about the program. From the very first class she discussed the criteria for "high distinction" and "highest distinction," and in every following class she would retell us. She made it seem as if getting honors was more important than anything else in life, including finding a career, getting married and/or having an intestinal system. I, however, was not in the program for the title. I was in the program because I wanted to learn and read and write. I was basically a poster child for Hooked on Phonics, only my parents weren't behind my back congratulating me every time I used the letter 'b' correctly.
On top of that, I felt I was the only person who didn't take the program seriously. Maybe that's because graduate school doesn't interest me, or maybe because the last time I was serious was the time my brother stole my pizza Lunchable in third grade, which, ironically, was also the last time my brother ever smiled. So, I was very self-conscious in this crowd. I tried making jokes in class ("Did you hear about the time I was hooked on phonics? Yeah, it was a tough time in my life"), but the teacher would screech at me, pterodactyl-style, and continue speaking about honors.
I ended up withdrawing from the class. Everybody in the seminar seemed fine by this, probably because they were sick of me arguing why the fifth season of "Two and a Half Men" is, hands-down, the best piece of fiction ever. I'm now down to nine credits, which means I'm not technically a student. Please, please don't tell my editors. I'm pretty sure only students are allowed to write, and, besides, they're already angry at me because i never capitalize anything.
Chris' column runs weekly Mondays. He can be reached at shuptrine@cavalierdaily.com.
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