Who is the Expert?

Who knows most about the “common man” (cm) and his issues? Who is best in position to speak to cm and help with those issues?

In a world where college degrees are more and more common and common sense has left the building, who knows what is going on?

College classes have been just as diluted as high school, junior high, and grade schools make them be. If the rigorous classes are not already taught and the student is not already prepared for college level work, then high school work is what is taught in college. This should be scary.

There are lists of weird classes offered by real colleges in the US. A Kentucky college offers a class in the “Art of Walking.” I would think that this skill had been mastered by the normal college applicant. In this class, however, students read works by noted walkers and take walks with the professor and his dog. Great preparation for life in the real world.

The prestigious Barnard College offers a class entitled “The Road Movie” where Easy Rider, Thelma and Louise, and other movies are discussed. Wow, wouldn’t that make you ready to take on the world? What preparation for life! What a fabulous way to spend both tuition and time.

And everyone’s favorite waste of brain cells, “The Philosophy of Star Trek” where time travel, thinking and feeling computers, and philosophical issues facing the characters on Star Trek (does not say if only the television series, all the television series spin offs, or movies are the subject base) are discussed by the serious college student. All this can happen at Georgetown University.

So, after taking a rigorous set of classes and completing the coursework required by your college of choice, you now have a degree and can discuss, while walking, how Jim, Spock, and Scotty, roam on various planets. This makes you an expert.

Most colleges and universities offer remedial classes in reading, writing, and mathematics. Most of these have students who take these types of classes for less than a year, few have students enrolling for these types of classes for MORE THAN A YEAR. And fully ¾ of students who take these classes pass them. That’s nice. That means that ¼ fail them. These people got into college somehow and they can’t pass the classes that are not even college level class work and that class work has been diluted already. This is scary.

So where is this leading?

Do people with college degrees have a better handle on what life is about? Do they know more about the ways of the world in general? Are they truly the experts?

I wouldn’t want a doctor who hadn’t gone through a med school and passed his licensing board’s requirements. I wouldn’t want a lawyer who hadn’t gone to school and passed the bar. Although both fields of endeavor have, in the past, had less scrupulous standards and were not as severely maintained, they have more to learn today than a couple hundred years ago.

I think it is nice that teachers learn how to teach but wonder if it is necessary in light of all the home schooled students who, by their parent's estimation, are excelling while learning in a situation where the parent has had no formal education in how to teach. Is there a person who has a natural inclination to teach and that is not bettered by the educational process? Do college classes really teach how to teach? Is there a true method of “how to teach?” Are parents who home school their children teaching them? Really? What a conundrum.

Do bartenders know more about the common man and his problems than a shrink with lots of letters after his name? Do those letters make the person an expert or is that a result of observations and integrated thinking? Can someone know stuff without having a piece of paper? Is education in colleges the only way to get smart? Are the people without higher degrees really unlearned?

As we push more and more of the less and less prepared through the diploma mills, who are the people we will lean on for more knowledge? How educated is someone who knows all about the philosophy of Star Trek?

What is the purpose of a higher degree? It is, I believe, oftentimes, to make colleges and universities money.

Telemarketers

I was sitting at my computer, not even done with my first cup of coffee. I was happily reading my email, sipping contentedly at my first of many cups of coffee. I was not bothering anyone. It was 8:27 AM.

My phone rang and since I have caller ID, I can usually tell who is on the other end. It was “UNKNOWN CALLER” on the other end. I picked up the phone and tentatively said into it, “Hello.” I do not say this loudly because I feel no need to shout into my phone. Especially before I’m fully tanked up on my coffee.

Some perky and excited man from India was on the other end. I interrupted his first few words of greeting with an explanation that it was not even 8:30 in the morning here in America. And his response to this news? Well, he said, “It is my duty, ma’am.”

Duty?

To bother people before the sun is over the yardarm?

To call me before the stores are even open?

To annoy me before I’ve gotten over the groggy I-just-hauled-myself-sleepily-out-of-bed mood?

I told him it was my duty to hang up and then did so.

I hate telemarketers. I think that they are scum of the earth. The technique of invading my home without invitation, without knowing how this interference will affect the person paying for the phone line, irritates me no end. And they do this in the hopes of wrangling some of my money away from me. It’s like being mugged.

DirecTV is the most vile of all offenders. They called me daily – at least – for weeks. I finally listened to the perky, pre-recorded moronic drivel and found that I could opt out of any further calls by pressing a certain number. I did that. I got another call the next day. I then used a phone book – amazing as that may be – and found a number for DirecTV and called THEM and told them that if they were the last, the only, the best, the mostest, greatest, superlative company in the whole world, I would not buy their service because they have hounded me to distraction. They do not call me anymore.

I get lots of calls from debt consolidation people. They want to talk to me about my current credit card debt. They sound very serious when the talk. I don’t have any credit card debt. If I did, I would probably be frightened by their tactics because it sounds like there is something wrong with one’s credit when they talk. I have had mortgage companies calling me telling me that they can save me hundreds of dollars each and every month. I’ve talked to a few of these people and ask if they plan to mail the check or should I drop by and pick it up. No, they say. They do not want to just give me money every month, but to reduce my mortgage payment. When I tell them that I don’t have one, they will oftentimes hang up on me.

That’s one of the most annoying things. When some [insert favorite pejorative term here] telemarketer calls me and then hangs up on me. These people interrupt me, make me stop what I’m doing to get to the phone or be irritated while it rings and my answering machine picks up and they babble incessantly, and if I deign to talk to them and tell them that their sale’s pitch is ineffective, they hang up on me.

I can only surmise that someone is purchasing stuff from these odious people. Otherwise they would not continue to call. And call. And call again. I feel that anyone stupid enough to purchase anything from a telemarketer should be assessed a stupidity tax costing at least an extra 25% of the cost of the purchase, shipping and handling extra.

I wish that the stupid people, the lazy people, the morons – would stop buying crap they didn’t need or want or else they would have sought out the product on their own. If everyone stopped buying from the cretins who bother us normal people, perhaps they would stop. I think it should be a national law that anyone calling your house to try to sell you shit, should have to give you their home phone number so that you can call them whenever you feel like it. I also believe that no telemarketer should be allowed to have their own names and numbers listed on the DO NOT CALL list.

I dislike these people. There is no reason to bother me. I have never, ever, ever bought a single thing from a telemarketer. I never will. In fact, I will make a note of who is bothering me and if I ever need a similar service, I will make sure that I do not use their company.

Leave me alone. Especially before I’ve had my coffee.

Keeping Up

Some people are terribly invested in keeping up with the neighbors. I find that rather ludicrous because how do you know what the neighbors are really doing? I mean, if the neighbors just bought a new car and went into debt up to their eyeballs are you really jealous of the debt? Or is the car that much of a positive thing that the debt is unimportant.

I don’t need to keep up with the neighbors. In fact, I’m not all that sure what my neighbors are actually doing. But if I had to guess, I wouldn’t want to do whatever it was. I have one neighbor who is going through life with a chip on her shoulder and finds fault with everything that everyone else does. I don’t want that, for sure.

My other neighbor is a very nice woman who is younger than I am by far enough that I certainly don’t want to revert to that stage of my life. I don’t want to deal with a teenaged son ever again. I wasn’t overly thrilled with it during the first run through, and I certainly don’t need to do it again.

But I do have a list of dreams. I want to be healthy and fit so I go to the gym, but I could be a little more devoted to the workout thing. I could easily spend time each day outside the gym doing physical work, walking the dog, scrubbing something, burning calories. And oh, those calories. I’ve devoured all the Christmas cookies, but there are still many empty calories in my house waiting patiently for their turn. I love chocolate and potato chips. Everything in moderation, I’ve heard it said. So I only eat my junk food in moderation. I find it works for me and so I am happy with that. Until I eat more than I know I should have and then … well, I berate myself.

I want to be a published author. I blog. I write for a three-times-a-week ezine with about 2000 members. But, I would like to have my book published. So what have I done? Well, I’ve written the thing. I’ve run through a first edit. I have the entire thing printed out and am working on a second edit. Nothing in those words about actually trying to sell my book. I would love to have the book fairy come to my house one night and take my book off to the publisher and wake up to a best seller. Or even a seller. Doesn’t have to be anywhere near best. But … I have not done anything.

I want to have a better, more open, more agreeable, more intimate relationship with my family. I wish I was closer to my sons, but … I do nothing to improve those relationships. I hear of parents who have children who are what I think is suffocatingly close. I back off from that. I’m not sure that my level of closeness is the correct level for my children, but it sure works for me and so that is the level I’ve chosen. I wish I knew if I was choosing wisely. Or if like the Indiana Jones movie, I’ve chosen poorly.

I wish I could keep up with myself. My dreams. I want, I want, I want. But I don’t take the steps necessary to achieve the things I want. I am even ambivalent about the things that I want. I want this as long as that isn’t disturbed. I want this as long as it comes easily. I want.

I did meet with the volunteer coordinator and am now able to be a volunteer as long as I can pass a TB test - where do I study? And as long as my background checks out. I’ve not got a criminal record of any sort, so I should be good to go.

Well, that is one want I can check off as accomplished.

How Worthless Am I?

I live in a country where worth is based on price. Something that is priceless is not worthless, but the contrary. Something of great worth costs a great price. Cars and houses are status symbols that prove to the world what one’s net worth is. This is also a land of boundless debt, but that’s another essay.

I used to be worth quite a bit in the job market. I had marketable skills that brought in a reasonable amount of money. I was licensed to work and that piece of paper made my skills even more valuable to an employer.

Then … something happened. I got migraines. I worked at the world’s worst hospital in the midst of a class action lawsuit between the staff and the hospital and doctors. It was not a pleasant experience. I tried to ease myself away from the pain and rancor within the walls. The only way to free myself was to take myself away completely.

Then I got a little pretend job. I made very little money. I worked out of my home and the commute was easy and the coworkers were great. My dog rarely threw a hissy fit. It was easy to do the actual work and I learned a new set of skills. But I did not have a license or any paper, in fact, that said I had those skills. So I went back to school and got that piece of paper.

I was a model student. I learned easily and could integrate classroom work with real life experience. I was chosen as the school’s prime graduate in my major. That was especially nice.

Then I went out to the employment world and found that my age and gender were handicaps. Old women are not known as computer whizzes. In fact, we are, as a group, thought to be completely computer illiterate. Transcripts and awards notwithstanding, it was difficult to impossible to get a job.

I ended up with a part time job teaching high school students how to use computers. There were requirements that I continue my own education since my degrees were not the kind the school system really likes. The fact that I could and did teach my students more about the topics than either of the men holding master’s degrees made little difference. Paper is everything in the world of work. Doubly so in the world of education.

I went on to become a technical specialist at a grade school. Nepotism aside, I was great at my job. I designed a computer lab before I even was an actual employee. I was able to upgrade other things as well and got the teachers comfortable, or at least more comfortable than they would have been without me, as they uploaded grades onto an online site that allowed for immediate information transfer. The parents were now able to track their kids’ progress as often as they chose to peek online.

Then I moved away, again. I tried substitute teaching and could manage most of the time. Some kids just aren’t all that interested in school. And most kids know that a substitute teacher is fair game for anything. But still, I thought it was okay even if it was not regular and paid very poorly. That’s another essay as well, the educational system and its ranking in importance as noted by funding. Price indicates worth. So maybe it is part of this topic.

I worked part time in an office making next to no money again. For a year. I was told to sharpen someone else’s pencils because it was beneath the dignity of a person with two master’s degrees to sharpen pencils. I was told, just before I quit, that I was worthless and not even a nice person. Those two things, the comments and the quitting, are directly related.

I’ve been unemployed for almost a year now. I’ve written a book and hope to get it published. I write for an ezine. I go to the gym three times a week. I’m getting bored. So I decided to volunteer. I hear that there is always a need for volunteers. So I filled out my two-page application to give away my time for free. Price equals worth in the US.

Today, in an hour, I have an interview to see if I can even give my time away. Am I so worthless now that I have to submit to the process of begging someone to allow me to spend some of my precious 24-hours that each day gives to all of us at their institution without remuneration? I am nervous. I am unsure. My worth is measured by price in the US. I want to give myself away. I don’t know if anyone will take me.

My Friend Carl

I have a friend who is labeled as “disabled” although he is very able if you ask me, or if you ask him. He earned an undergraduate degree in some sort of engineering – I think chemical – from Penn State in only three years. He worked at various jobs using that degree for many years. He was good at what he did.

He is also a brittle diabetic, meaning that his blood sugar is not easily regulated. Along with that comes various secondary problems that are known to affect diabetics. Carl slowly and relentlessly lost his sight. All sight in one eye is forever gone. He can see shadows if there is enough light with his other eye.

Carl did not give up. He went to law school. The ADA helped in so far as they hired “readers” for him. I was one of his readers. Thankfully, I did not have to actually read boring textbooks to him. All his books came – eventually – as text files and I broke them into smaller bits with the reading assignments in separate files. I also helped with formatting his papers since the reader programs on the computer couldn’t help him with how they looked. I was happy to help because, as I said, he is my friend. He was at one time also a neighbor. He graduated in the top 10% of his law class. He passed the bar on the first time.

He is now a practicing attorney. But life is not going well for him right now. Nancy Haylor, a 58-year-old woman, was recommended to him for bookkeeping duties. He hired her. She has allegedly robbed his bank account of nearly $22,000 according to the local paper, the Elyria Chronicle-Telegram. A Cleveland news show also aired his story.

I know that there are bad people in the world. I know that some people are not to be trusted. I know that those bad people cause undue hardship for the rest of us. I know that Carl could wallow in self-pity and never work again. Well, Carl really can’t because he is too motivated, too driven, too smart, too capable, and much too eager to make a contribution to the world.

I am just appalled that anyone would steal from an employer like this. Since Nancy’s disability is arthritis, Carl would bring her in lunch so she didn’t have to go out. I wonder if that was when she was writing out checks to herself. This is just so horribly wrong. I am furious that my friend was so ill-used. I am disgusted that someone would take advantage of a kind soul like this.

I wish there was a great moral to this story. I can’t think of one. I’m just so ticked. Carl, his wife, and their two daughters really don’t need this sort of aggravation. I hope that the legal system will help one of its own and require her to make restitution, at least. With interest would be better. Punitive damages would be icing on the cake. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

Blah, Blah, Blog

It has been days since I’ve posted anything to my blog and in order to forestall any recriminatory comments, I need to write something. But what should I write about. Write what you live. There is a little notion that living is interesting and if you write about your life, that by extension should be interesting as well.

Bah, humbug.

Yesterday I was asked my opinion about another person’s writing. It would have been easy to answer if I had actually liked the other person’s writing. However, I did not like it and was horrified at having to say so. In fact, I wanted to ignore the whole thing but was told that it was not an option. When one is asked, one needs to answer and to answer honestly. It made me a little pukey.

Then, I had to work on my own writing. After my less than stellar critique of another person’s efforts, I felt just a tad nervous to take on the task of writing something myself. But since I now list “author” as my occupation, I must at least attempt to “auth” on a daily basis – or something close to a daily basis.

What did I learn yesterday in my attempt to write? I learned that the brilliant and influential nineteenth century cartoonist, Thomas Nast, was essentially illiterate. He influenced Presidential elections, fine tuned the political cartoon into a national past time, gave us the pictures we hold dear to us – both Uncle Sam and Santa Claus – and instituted what we consider many of the norms of Christmas. He was the person who moved Santa to the North Pole and gave him a bunch of elves to make all the toys. He based his Christmas drawings on Clement Moore’s poem, The Night Before Christmas. But he couldn’t read the poem, his wife had to read it to him.

I also learned that islands have been forming and breaking up for a long time and that geography is no stable thing. Storm tides in the North Sea have changed the coastline on various occasions destroying towns that were quite large for the times and sometimes taking out whole fairly large islands.

I also learned that the clarinet, an instrument I played for about seven years in grade school and high school bands, was invented in 1690 and the typical clarinet that comes to mind when the word is spoken is just one of a whole family of clarinets. Like the piccolo and flute, there are mini-clarinets and various other instruments in the family.

I learned that “Freedom Fries” isn’t the first time the US lost its mind during a war. During the second world war, when France was an ally but Germany was not, Frankfurt and Vienna both came to be despised and foods named for the area had to be renamed to not offend the sensibilities of god alone knows who. But frankfurters and wieners became “Victory Sausages.” Proving that stupidity is nothing new.

I also did something constructive with my day. I visited the library which is always a pleasant way to spend time. With the whole writing thing comes a love of words. While I find my own words comforting, I find other people’s writing entertaining as well. At least sometimes that happens. Please see above.

I also did laundry yesterday which is a necessary and loathsome task. Wearing dirty clothes is really unappealing, but doing laundry just lacks a certain pizzazz. It is one of those things that simply must be done. I did it.

I also dropped off an application, two pages, to be a volunteer at a local hospital. The application to give away my time was actually longer than some applications I have filled out in the hopes of being hired and paid a living wage. In fact, I’ve gotten jobs without ever filling out an application at all. I don’t really know what happens next. I know that they have to do a background check and perhaps they will also check my reference. I guess it is essential to know that people in a hospital are not drug addicts stealing the narcotics, but if I remember correctly, those are kept locked away with only a nurse holding the key. I’m not sure what other heinous things they look for, but I am confident that my history check will produce no subversive type behaviors.

As I said, life is interesting. Maybe.