The Diagnosis

            He rocks back and forth. His pinpoint pupils stare out, but it isn’t quite certain their point of focus. He runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and mumbles. “Why? Why? Why can’t it do what I want?” He grabs the orderly by the collar.

            “Take it easy, friend. What seems to be the problem?”

            “Why! Why can’t it do the simplest of things? I don’t ask much. I only want it to obey. Obedience is all I ask.” His pupils focus in a penetrating stare that startles the orderly. “Why won’t it obey?”

            “Why won’t what obey?”

            “It! Why won’t it obey?”

            The orderly shakes himself loose from the disfigured fingers grasping his collar.

            “Obey! It’s all I ask!”

            The orderly sees the therapist in the hallway. He saunters over. “What do you think is wrong with our friend there?”

            “I’m not sure, but he’s in a bad way.”

            “Yeah, he’s been sitting on that cold, tile floor for the last six hours. He keeps mumbling about it needing to obey.”

            A lady in a lab coat hands the therapist a report. “Here’s another piece of the puzzle.”

            The therapist shakes his head. “Carpal tunnel syndrome and arthritic fingers.”

            The orderly tilts his head to the left. “That can’t be right. He can’t be a day over thirty. Wait a second, . . . you don’t think?”

            “Think what?”

            “Cubicle psychosis? We’ve had that a lot since that telemarketing company opened up down the street.”

            The therapist shakes his head. “No, no. It can’t be that.”

            “How do you know?”

            “He’s been here six hours, and he hasn’t tried to kill anyone yet.”

            “Is it Multiple Avatar Disorder?”

            “No, no. We ran a complete Facebook Addiction Panel. He only scored a 13.”

            “Thirteen, hmm? That’s lower than most of the people working on this floor.”

            “Yeah. I scored an 88, and I’m supposed to be a therapist.”

            “That’s pretty high.”

            “Yeah, and it’s over 90 when I drink too much coffee.”

            “Did you try a Rorschach Test?”

            “He scored a 100%.”

            “I thought there were no right answers.”

            “Sure, sure there are.”

            “What are they?”

            “Bat, monks, bag pipe players, Darth Vader, moth, cosmic string, lovers, kidneys, pelvic bone, and Schrodinger’s cats.”

            “Interesting.”

            “So, what could be bothering our friend over there?”

            “Why you asking me? You’re the therapist.”

            The therapist flags down a nurse. “Could you hook our friend over there up to an EEG?”

            “We ran an EEG when he came in.”

            “Well, why wasn’t I notified?”

            “We attached it to his chart, Sherlock!”

            “Okay, you don’t have to get lippy. Get me his chart.”

            Meanwhile, he continues to rock back and forth. Aside from the mumbling, he’s nearly catatonic.

            “Okay, Sherlock, here’s the chart.”

            “Let’s see here. Hmm, that’s interesting.”

            The orderly leans in. “What’s interesting?”

            “He seems to have little brain activity.”

            “You don’t think?”

            “We’ve seen this before. Let’s go talk to him.”

            He stares deeply into the therapist’s eyes. “Why won’t it obey! Why? I just want it to do what it’s told.”

            The orderly chuckles. “What do you want it to do? Put the lotion on the skin?”

            The therapist cringes. “That’s not funny.”

            “It puts the lotion on the skin.”

            “Enough!”

            He runs his fingers through his hair. “Why? Why won’t it obey.”

            The therapist grabs and shakes him. He looks the therapist in the eye. The therapist boldly proclaims, “Ariel.”

            “Ariel. No, no no!”

            “Garamond.”

            “No, no! I just want italics. Why won’t it obey!”

            “Did you create a chart?”

            “You’re holding his chart,” says the orderly.

            “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to him.” The therapist stares him in the eyes. “Did you try to create a chart?”

            “Yes, yes. No, no. NO!”

            “Autocorrect.”

            “Oh, please, make it stop! Why won’t it obey!”

            The therapist turns to the orderly. “I think I know what we’re dealing with here.”
            “What? What is it?”

            “This isn’t good. He’ll need treatment, rehab, and at least several years of outpatient counselling.”

            “What? What is it?”

            “He has, . . . Microsoft Mania!”

            

God's Special Batteries

            God creates special batteries. These special batteries are people that energize those around them. Some of them are the life of the party—radiating a bombastic vibe that fills a room or stage with electricity. Some of them are shy and awkward—always uncomfortable in a crowd; yet, there is a gentle, penetrating warmth that emanates from them. Some are the champagne effervescence of dialogue—bubbling over with friendliness. These batteries are introverts.

            I know what you’re thinking: “I’ve never heard introverts described like this before?” No, no, you haven’t. I fear introverts are often viewed as moody, withdrawn, and gloomy. At the party, the introvert can be the Jeckyll-Hyde—the hot fudge frosting and cherry on top until ninety minutes in when their personality becomes the rice cake on the snack tray. And then, ten minutes later, Hyde sulks out the back door to, “Go home and take a nap.”

            I am an introvert raised by a family of introverts. Don’t fear. Being raised by introverts isn’t like being raised by wolves. I’ve never known wolves to eat their young. Ah, that sly, dark sense of humor I possess. Not all introverts are funny, but many are. So, let’s begin looking at this mysterious creature.

            Yesterday I was having lunch with three friends. Two I suspect are introverts. One is definitely an extrovert. Mr. Extrovert was the conductor of the discussion. Of course, you may wonder, how could I tell? An introvert can also direct the symphony of dialogue. Here’s the difference. At about three hours in, the introverts were becoming tired. Once an introvert’s social bottle is uncorked, those around can freely imbibe until the vessel is dry. Once dry, there is no more to give. Mr. Extrovert, on the other hand, was just getting going, because his glass was now sloshing over. I suspect he could have continued incessantly until basic life processes (like the need for sleep or perhaps death) prevented his socializing.

            In social settings, the introvert has a battery set on discharge. So, they can be the energizers. The extrovert has a battery set on recharge. That’s why as the party progresses, you’ll see the introverts begin to exit while the extroverts beg them to stay. Without an energizer around, the extroverts become leeches without a host. Once the introverted social champagne has run dry, the extroverts are left by themselves and begin to drink harder social liquors. The introverts left the party four hours ago to drink on their thoughts all alone.

            Is it fair to call the extrovert a leech? Probably not, but I’m doing the writing. When extroverts enter their rah-rah, let’s-go-team mode, they feel like a leech to introvert. Introverts that have ever been in sales know what I’m talking about—where some overly caffeinated facilitator leads the group through extroverted aerobics—slanting slogans, clapping, standing up, doing the Hokey Pokey, and turning around and then, as we’re ready to slump in our seats due to exhaustion, we’re supposed to turn to our neighbors. To an introvert, this is manipulation. You are using our social energy, that special battery God has given us to share with the world, and you’re wasting it on trivial games simply for your amusement and the benefit of all the extroverts in the room.

            I am aware I’m not being fair to the extroverts. I have extroverted friends who are wonderful people. What I’m sharing in the previous three paragraphs is not a rational analysis of extroversion. It’s how extroverts feel to introverts once the introvert’s battery is depleted; or, when the extrovert’s extroversion knob is turned too high.

            Introverts are society’s special battery. They can energize those around them. But, that energy comes at a dire cost to the introvert—because that energy is limited and at times can easily be depleted. To the introvert, this means you must learn how to budget that energy. At times, reclusion is the only healthy option. For the extrovert, realize you are spending our precious energy. Don’t waste that energy on the trivial or for your feel good amusement. Help us channel that energy for the betterment of mankind.

They'll Just Be Replaced by Robots

            I don’t know how many times I’ve posted a meme, made a comment, or posted a video on Facebook dealing with the need for wage increases for many workers. Then someone will undoubtedly reply with something to the effect of, “They’ll just be replaced by robots.” Or, even worse, they’ll post some picture of the McCashier stations. I fear the people who post this actually believe this is a valid argument—like, I’m supposed to roll over and say, “Yeah. You got me on that one. I didn’t even think of the robot argument!” My general response is to completely ignore the reply. It’s really a waste of my time and an exercise in futility to enter the fray of intellectual debate with those who think McDonald’s is the economic model that sets the standard.

            So, I’m going to respond in this blog. I’m not going to argue with those who disagree.

            First, the robot response proves that we’ve created a brutal economic system. One cannot deny huge corporate profits and huge salaries for C-level executives. One cannot deny high unemployment rates, however they are measured. One cannot deny the increase in income inequality that becomes greater every day. Those at the top cut wages, send jobs overseas, demand ever-increasing productivity, and those at the bottom suffer. Rather than buck this system, the answer to some is to make it even more brutal. “Well, they’ll just replace workers with robots.” Yes, they might. Thanks for making my point. Our system has become so brutal, that robots are considered just as valuable as people. 

            But, rather than besmirching the robots, let me take their side. Who doesn’t want robots making a living wage? Just imagine a strong middle class made up of robots—spending all that middle class income buying goods and services. Yes, it will certainly be a boon to the economy. Of course, if we don’t pay robots a decent wage, none of this will happen. But, I’m certain our corporate heads love robots. So, why wouldn’t they pay them well? Of course, if they don’t pay them well, then we won’t have that robotic spending spurring on the economy. But, how could one deny the evidence that increasing wages spurs the economy, because robots with money actually spend more?

            Let’s assume for a moment the robots are poorly paid. There’s still a big advantage. Poor robots are far less inconvenient than poor people. Poor people sleep in the streets. Poor people use up government resources. Poor people become tired and cranky. And, crankiness leads to civil unrest. A poor robot can simply be unplugged and stored in a closet. A poor person is a constant mouth to fill until death.

            Of course, I can hear all the counter arguments about certain jobs being stepping stones, about the need for one to increase their education, or the myth that increasing wages will radically inflate prices. Sure, if people have more money there will be more demand for products and services. Of course, with items necessary for survival (like food and water), demand is only going to increase to the point where everyone is fed. Everyone is fed? Hmm? Does that sound like a good goal? Yes, demand on those items will increase to a point and then stabilize. What won’t stabilize is demand for consumer items—like cars, electronics, computers and houses. But, why would we want an increase in demand for those items? Such a demand could lead to increased manufacturing, which would supply more jobs. Imagine what would happen if there was a greater demand for employees? It might create greater wages. Yes, increased wages beget increased wages. You reap what you sow, a principle so ingrained in the Bible (and Torah), that it should be a key principle carried over from our supposedly Judeo-Christian heritage into our economic system.

            Of course, all this robot talk springs from the assumption that, “Burger flippers shouldn’t make $15/hour.” There is this notion that there is unskilled labor and skilled labor—a continuum of skills. If one wants to progress up the ladder of salary, they need to improve their skills. I agree with that notion. So, the point of disagreement isn’t whether the continuum should exist, but where the bottom of the continuum should reside. The bottom of the continuum should exist at a livable wage, which is considerably higher than current minimum wage.

            Of course, then comes out the tired arguments about how increasing wages will kill business, businesses will cut hours, and prices will shoot through the roof. I know all the arguments. I was trained to make those arguments. But, I’ve seen they aren’t true. Let’s begin with the idea that increasing wages will kill business. But, let’s look at those wages as a block of money instead of individual salaries. I think fully investigating this is important, because there are many robotic mouths that need to be filled! So, picture all employee’s salaries and benefits as a single block of spending. Increasing the size of that block will inflate the price of doing business. However, let’s say the size of the block needs to remain static. What happens if one person’s salary or benefits is increased? It’s pretty obvious—someone else’s salary and benefits need to decrease. Increasing wages and benefits for those at the bottom means the wages and benefits for those at the top need to decrease. Doing this makes sense if one assumes those at the top are making too much and those at the bottom are making too little. I believe that assumption is Gospel truth.

            Now, let’s consider all the tactics big business uses—such as cutting hours, employing robots, cutting wages or whatever argument someone will come up with. Is the business trying to cut the size of the block they spend on employees? Or, is the business simply decreasing what it spends on some workers so it can give more to others? That’s hard to say for each individual business, but the overall trend is giving more to those at the top and less to those at the bottom. This seems a logical conclusion, since the irrefutable evidence is an increase in wage disparity.

            The question of robotic workers really boils down to what kind of world we want to live in. Robotic workers are a real possibility based on our current economic system. But, do we want that economic system? Personally, I’d rather my burger be served by a happy person—a self-sufficient person who enjoys flipping burgers. If a few CEO’s need to give up their private jets and instead suffer first class, it’s a price I’m willing to pay. Yes, it means we must somehow change our current economic model, but I’m also fine with that. If we regarded people as highly as we do robots, maybe there’d be fewer of those inconvenient people sleeping on my streets, begging for my food, or dying of hunger and stinking up my air. My dream is for a world where people are as convenient as robots. But, in order for that to happen, we’re going to have to start employing more people at higher wages.

Just Stop It J.J.! My Review of The Force Awakens

            What J.J. Abrams did to Star Trek, he has now done to Star Wars. Yes, he gave moviegoers an entertaining film. The visuals were stunning. The pacing was epic. The characters were strong. It was a hell of a ride. But, I feel the same way about this Star Wars rehash as I did about the Star Trek rehash. Star Wars: The Force Awakens would have been better if it wasn’t Star Wars.

            In 1977 George Lucas gave the audience something new—from the visuals, to the sound track, to the characters, to the epic story, he gave the audience a universe they hadn’t seen before. That was Star Wars—something that wasn’t derivative, but something that was unique.

            Here’s what Hollywood doesn’t understand. Unique can’t be Xeroxed. Sure, you can take yesterday’s leftovers out of the fridge and cook up some interesting hash. But, the rehashed leftovers are never as good as the original; because, the original was original. The only way to redo Star Wars is to not do Star Wars. All the elements of the original started with a blank sheet of paper and the mind of a genius.

            Hollywood, you can keep giving us these remakes. Yes, we’ll watch them. Sure, we’ll enjoy them. You’ll make millions. But, when you give moviegoers something genius as opposed to derivative, then (and only then), will you give the audience that same feeling as they felt in 1977—when John Williams’ brilliant opening notes touched their souls, and they began a journey into the unknown. You’ll also likely make millions in the process.

Cavs Need to Make Adjustments

            The Cavs need a single focus this season—winning the championship. Anything else is unacceptable. The team is that good. Even without Kyrie and Shumpert on the floor, this team should be playing better. There are no excuses, but there needs to be adjustment.

            Move. It seems so simple. The Cavs need to move on offense. Too often one player is dribbling the ball and four are standing flatfooted. Set a pick. Cut to the hoop. Switch across the baseline. Post up underneath. Do anything but just stand there. If you plant your feet for your shot, realize this is NBA basketball. If someone doesn’t feed you the ball in two or three seconds, you’re no longer open.

            The Cavs have some serious threats in terms of feeding their teammates. When they pass up the bad shot for the good shot, they become far more effective. When they pass up the better shot for the best shot, their offense is unbeatable. At times they look lazy or confused. Like many fans, I look at this team and I know this is our chance for a championship. In terms of both talent and depth, it doesn’t get any better than this!

            Switch. At times, I think the Cavs are fighting too hard to work through opponent’s picks. Yell, “Switch”. And then, switch. It’s pretty obvious what other teams are doing with these picks, since teams have been using this offensive strategy for decades. One guy is trying to set up a shot—and, when that ends up being an open jump shot behind the line, it’s going to hurt. Or, the other guy is going to roll towards the basketball and is looking for an easy bucket or the deadly plus one.

            Spread. Too often the Cavs defense collapses on the ball and then a man opens up on the weak side for the easy three. The game plan for many teams is to spread the offense. The way to beat that is to spread the defense.

            Every team is going to make errors on defense. What do you want to give the other team when they force those errors? An easy two or an easy three? It seems logical to err towards protecting against easy threes. This is particularly true since it seems the road to the championship runs through Golden State.

            Coach Blatt and Lebron, listen up. Move! Switch! Spread! In terms of talent, you won’t find a better team. You have a rare opportunity. Don’t waste it!

My AGT Tryout

            On Friday the 13^th of November, I began my journey to Queens, New York. Mom came along, because she wanted to see the city. We stayed in the Super 8 on North Conduit. We were either in or near an area called Jamaica.

            On Saturday began the journey to the tryout. I drove out to Queens College. I was suspecting with the tryouts, there would be police and others directing traffic to parking. But, I didn’t see any. I guess that was good, because according to the information I had, parking was going to cost $10. I found Melbourne, which was one of the streets AGT had given as a place to park. So, we parked and then walked up a sidewalk next to a long, tall, cement wall until we found the college entrance. I asked someone where the dining hall was, since that’s where tryouts were. We began our journey, somewhat dazed and confused, across the campus trying to find the landmarks from our directioneer. Yes, I made up the word “directioneer”!

            I saw a group coming across campus in matching uniforms—white shirts, black ties, red scarves and matching jackets. So, I asked if they were going to the AGT tryouts. Since they were, we stuck with them as we tried to find our way. They were a group called “Dangerous Signs”. They did some sort of synchronized, sign language act. I’m not sure what that entails, but they were super nice.

            Someone saw the line and we headed towards it. After asking a few questions, we were directed where to go. We stood in a short line outside that wrapped around the outside of the dining area. They had a long area marked off. I jumped the police tape, since the line wasn’t long at that time. It was around 9:00 a.m. I imagine later in the day that line was longer. After asking a few people, I showed my AGT ticket, showing preregistration. They gave me a purple wristband and my identification sticker. Mom, as well as any guests, was given a yellow wristband. We were then directed to the doors where we entered. Carousels were set up that winded back and forth to the registration tables.

            Before getting in that line, I was frisked by the NYPD. There were quite a few police officers around. I’m not sure if that had anything to do with AGT or if police presence was on high alert due to the recent terrorist attacks in France.

            So, the journey through the carousels began. Fortunately, the line moved pretty quickly. While in line, mom and I had a chance to talk to some of the other acts. We were in line not far behind Dangerous Signs. I hope they make the show! We spoke to a fellow who was maybe in his 50’s or early 60’s. He had a cool, white hat. He was going to sing, “That’s Amore”. Apparently a friend of his convinced him to come try.

            We spoke to a young lady who was going to sing. I’m guessing she was around twelve or thirteen years old. She had strange eyebrows—painted on with eyebrow pencils like older ladies do. I didn’t say anything about the eyebrows. Behind us was a tall, black guy with a thick head of hair—almost an afro, but not quite. He was with a friend, who was also trying out as a singer. We started talking to them and she notified me that she thought I had a booger. After checking, no booger was found. Apparently, I had some wild nose hair with a booger-like appearance. There were several booger jokes exchanged.

            While in line, I heard some beat boxing. He sounded pretty good. I’m not sure how people make all those sounds.

            We didn’t see anyone that looked too crazy in line. I was somewhat suspecting to see a guy on roller skates in a chicken suit. But, nothing that crazy. There were a few unusual looking people I saw later.

            At the front of the line, we waited until directed to the registration table, which were actually several tables set up. The young lady we spoke to had a computer open. I showed her my pass after taking her picture. I had everything printed out, but she found me in the computer and things went pretty quickly. She also spoke with mom. I think mom needed to fill out a form or something. I was given a few pieces of paper stapled together with my preregistration ticket. On the front was a questionnaire to fill out. We were directed to a large waiting area, where I was supposed to fill out the form and just wait. They said there were pens. I didn’t see anyone handing out pens, but saw a deserted pen on a table, which I snatched. Hopefully it was deserted.

            The form asked things like name, age, place of birth and residence, how long and how you learned your act, what other talents you have, occupation, what are your dreams, what obstacles have you overcome in reaching your dreams, and who is your biggest supporter. I hope they could read my writing, since I was writing with my paperwork supported on a few folded up magazines mom had in her purse.

            I suspect the large area was probably the college cafeteria. There were hundreds (maybe even a few thousand) people in there—some seated, some practicing and some eating snacks. There was a Nathan’s hotdog. I think there may have been some vending machines somewhere, since people had pops and waters. After sitting for a while, I went to use the restroom. I saw a guy in there putting some sort of red body paint on his chest. I didn’t take a picture, because there’s a creep factor snapping a picture in a busy men’s room.

            The room was pretty noisy, with some just sitting, some practicing and some milling around. There was a guy that would occasionally stand on a small platform up front and give announcements.

            I wandered around a while and took some pictures. I saw my friend that was going to sing, “That’s Amore”, so I snapped a few pictures of him. There were some cute little girls in red dresses. I suspect they were doing some sort of Latin American dance act, but who knows. One lady had something that looked like a small candelabra. I have no idea what she was doing.

            There were some young ladies singing behind us—unfortunately, off key at several points. In front of me, a guy had a table. He had a few cups and a few other things set up. He had two pens and was doing some sort of drumming act. At points, it sounded really good.

            Mom saw a guy in blue hair. She directed me to him, since I was taking pictures. There he was, the guy with the body paint in the bathroom. He was wearing blue hair and had a bare chest with some sort of red body paint. It didn’t look like his body-painting job was complete.

            Across the room was a guy singing and playing an instrument. I think he was doing some sort of one-man-band act. He sounded pretty good.

            All through this whole process, I was running my lines through my head for my standup comedy act.

            To the side of the waiting room, was a line composed of the numbers they were calling. When they called 850 and below, I was pretty excited, since the last three of my ID sticker was 870. After a while, they said 900 and below was coming up. Mom suggested we make our way closer to the line.

            We spoke to one of the helpers, who thought I was in line. I said I was in the next group. He directed me to get in line right before the guy called 900’s and below. I suspect getting near the line early saved about a half hour.

            Everyone was notified that after that point, there would be no videotaping, photography or food. Anyone found doing that would be disqualified. I so wanted to take pictures, but I couldn’t.

            A helper split off the group shortly behind us, and our group was told to follow each other to the next area. We walked through an area cordoned off that was in the same room as the people snaking their way to the registration table. I felt like a big shot looking at those poor fools in line.

            We went to another, smaller waiting room. You could occasionally hear a singer or instrument in the next room. People were cutting back and forth through this room. One group came in with some instruments. They were told to get their instruments out and ready. One guy had a beat-up, silver-colored sousaphone. One guy had a large saxophone. Someone had what looked like a clarinet. When they went in the room, you could hear a little bit of what they were playing, which was some variation on a Michael Jackson song. They sounded pretty good.

            I ended up talking to a guy that was playing guitar. He had a small amp and stomp box. I think he was from the Baltimore area. He was a little ornery. He said, “Nice legs”, to a guy that walked by in high heels with shaved legs. He did have rather muscular legs. I’m not sure what he was doing, but he entered the audition room.

            The AGT helper was trying to keep a path clear in the middle of the room. He would also occasionally tell us to keep things down, as apparently they could hear us in the audition room. I spoke with him a little. He was a local hire. He said they had about 1600 RSVP’s for the tryouts and that tryouts would probably run to eleven or midnight. The tryouts closed at 7:00 p.m., but I assume they still had many in line at that point.

            There were several acts in the waiting area. One guy was about fourteen and wearing a suit. There was a teenager with a guitar. Throughout the whole process, I saw countless people carrying guitars. There were some young girls and a kid with his mother. Only one guardian was allowed in the audition room with minors.

            Anyhow, eventually we were let into the audition room. It was probably about fifteen feet by twenty feet. Up front a few tables were set up with a laptop and various papers. Occasionally an AGT person would wander in. Those trying out sat in folding chair lining the sidewalls of the room. I was seated right above a power strip, which apparently ran to various equipment. In the back corner was a speaker, microphone, keyboard and bench set up. Behind the desk was a lady, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. I think she was the producer lady for that audition room. Beside her was a guy with a video camera. She told us that when she called us, we would walk to the X (which was just an X made out of green tape), give our name, age, where we’re from and what we’re doing. Then, we would perform. She said we didn’t need to stand on the X, but could walk around if needed. She told everyone to keep things clean and that she would stop us at ninety seconds. Actually, I think she let some of the kids go a little longer. She also said she would be taking notes.

            As she called, people performed. It’s a little hard to remember exactly what everyone did, since I was running through my act in my mind. Several younger ladies sang. One girl had a strong voice. One didn’t project well and could barely be heard. One young lady sang and played piano. There was a young man, I think fourteen, that played guitar and sang. His playing was excellent and his singing was solid. He was seated right next to me, so I gave him a fist bump after his act. After each act, all the people trying out gave each other applause.

            One kid had a harmonica with a neck band. When he was called, he did his act at the keyboard. He did Billy Joel’s Piano Man. He could sing. His keyboarding and harmonic playing was also strong. So, I suspect he makes it. I gave a thumbs-up. If you see a young (maybe ten-year old) Asian kid doing Piano Man, you heard it from me first.

            The fourteen year old in the suit was a magician. He did a card act. He went up to the table with the producer lady and did a close-up act. I couldn’t tell for sure what he did.

            Eventually they called me. I really let it fly, giving my act a ton of energy. The producer lady was laughing at several points. I could also hear people behind and to my sides laughing. She stopped me before I finished my act. I only had about fifteen words left, so I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to do my ending. I was using a ton of facial expressions and taking dramatic pauses. So, maybe I was at 90 seconds, but I think she may have stopped me a little shorter to keep things on track. One line in my act was, “Anyone wake up this morning and your first thought was, I hate my job?” I heard the producer lady respond something to the effect of no, not me. Usually, it’s a pretty good sign when the audience is so involved in your act, that they’re responding under their breath while also laughing and smiling.

            When the guy with the guitar, stomp box and amp performed, he said he was going to free style. The producer lady said since he was free styling, that she would stop him at 90 seconds. He got a few loops going with his stomp box and then starting rapping. His rap wasn’t that great. This was an opportunity for me to read the producer lady when she stopped him. I wanted to see if his stop was different than when I was stopped. Her demeanor was different when she stopped him. While subtle, her demeanor was saying, “Okay, okay, enough already!” Mine was a positive stop. The body language was more speaking, “Okay, I’ve heard enough. I think you’re great!” It was just a slight smile and a positive tone in her voice. I suspect she noted to look at my video further, but that’s just my best guess. They only notify the people who make the show and that could be as late as April.

            After audition, we left. A few of the young girls said I was funny. Their mom mentioned they were teachers and we’re kidding me, because one of my lines dealt with teachers having teaching disabilities. I told them I teach college and they seemed fine with that. We walked out and I saw the line wrapping around the building. It was around 1:00 p.m. We walked past a group in blue uniforms. I wished them luck. And, my tryouts were over.

Students to Blame for Our Failing Education System

            Who’s to blame for our failing education system? Students! That’s right, I said it—the thought that every college instructor ruminates. At the end of the term, it seems some of my students are dumber than when they started. They haven’t grown any dumber. I just got to know them.

            It seems many students have no useful purposes—perhaps beyond serving as an alternate food source. Why must Soylent only come in green, when stupidity comes in a rainbow! Before processing into victuals, lop off their heads and use the contents to fertilize the rainforest. Bye, bye, Global Warming!

            After considering such suggestions, you may be pondering my sanity. Don’t worry. I’m also pondering it. I’m one ill-formed argument about pot legalization away from a straight jacket. Just because you’re in favor of legalization, doesn’t mean you need to smoke it. Particularly when writing a paper! I can even smell it on that Word document you emailed me. The smell permeates from the sentence fragments, run-ons, and ill-constructed verb tenses. I use the term “verb tenses” nearly as loosely as you demonstrated it. Had I not opened the file, I wouldn’t have known what you were sending. At least you put your name on it this time. I know who to give the F.

            I know someone out there is thinking my suggestion constitutes murder. Apparently you haven’t seen the blank stares on my students’ faces. A lack of brain activity is one definition of death. How can you murder a corpse? I would be willing to offer pardons to students who asked thought-provoking questions; but, there would be rules. Any questions concerning matters covered in class more than twice are illegitimate. “Will this be on the test?” “Can we get extra credit?” And, “Can we get out of here early?” do not count as proof of brain activity. Any questions clearly covered in the syllabus will move a student to the front of the line. We’ll lop off the head right there—in class. Don’t worry, no one will even notice until the video goes viral. Several minutes later, some back-row cell phone jockey will loudly declare, “Dude! Did you just see what happened in class?”

            Now, those ill-informed of the realities of college classes, may suggest I’m simply boring. I’ve tried everything in class—lecture, discussion, videos, games, dancing, singing, and playing trombone. My bone playing is the auditory equivalent of waterboarding. It would jar consciousness from anyone with even the most modest sense of pitch. But in class, more blank stares!

            Some may wonder that if it’s fair for students, it’s also fair for instructors. Okay, then let’s go there! Imagine dragging highly educated professionals to the grinder? I’m guessing Soylent processing begins with a grinder, but what do I know? My degree work never included classes on meat processing. My degree work never included any information useful outside of academia. Why do you think I’m teaching these slackers!

            Upon further reflection, dragging instructors to the grinder seems ludicrous. Let them teach for ten years. You won’t need to drag. They’ll volunteer! They’ll march to the grinder with purpose. It’ll be the first time they’ve felt purpose in years. Yes, they used to be vibrant people—with ideas swimming in their heads, fire coursing through their hearts, and compassion dancing in their souls. The blank stares extinguished that. The blank stare isn’t a void; it’s a heaping helping of apathy! It’s a statement that the instructor isn’t viewed as a person. They are viewed as an obstacle between the student and the degree.

            We might as well kill students now. Their degrees are worthless. At most it’s a ticket to corporate serfdom. Used to be that serfdom was earned through a high school diploma. But, that was in the days when students worked hard and cared, so the diploma carried some weight. That was also in the days when companies cared—when employees were viewed as people and management had emotional attachment. Now, management is composed of MBA’s with blank stares. It’s the same stare that existed in the classroom, but now it’s at some profit and loss statement, where employees are seen as liabilities. These managers are the lucky few whose degrees served as golden tickets, only to find that Willy Wonka isn’t a fun loving chocolatier.  He’s a slick-talking politician with a bad toupee. And, the factory doesn’t produce chocolate. It produces Soylent in a rainbow of colors.

What is Wrong with Our Education System?

            The education system seems so huge, that it would seem impossible to simplify its problems into a short essay. But, while the system is huge, we can boil it down to individual students and teachers. There are certain truths of human nature. When these truths are grasped and applied—from both the teacher and student—then education begins to be transformed.

            True transformation is an inside-out process. Besides being involved in education, I’m also a born-again Christian. I’ve been around churches and church folks. In those circles, you will hear people talk of legalism. Legalism boils down to people whose whole perspective on their faith (and life) comes down to following a set of rules. Internally they are often dead, but outwardly they appear righteous.

            It’s frightening how closely this mirrors our education system. The system at its core is an external system of rewards and punishments that are designed to bring people into conformity. These rewards and punishments take the form of tests, papers, and other assignments, as well as rules, policies and procedures. Of course, some will argue that those things aren’t always wrong. No, they’re not always wrong. The issue is focus. When the externals become both a means and an end, and they have in many ways, people learn to play the game. Outwardly they conform, but inwardly they aren’t developing creativity or critical thinking. The ones most highly rewarded are the ones most conforming to the system.

            Think about those people who most changed society in a positive way, people like: Einstein, Beethoven or Shakespeare. What made these people unique wasn’t that they conformed. What made them unique was they did new things—or, perhaps old things in new ways. Uniqueness always comes from within. If we want to produce these type of people, our system must change from an outside-in to an inside-out focus.

            Grabbing the heart first. Grab a syllabus for a class or read a textbook. Ask yourself, is this person primarily focused on making a head-to-head connection? Or, is the primary focus on making a heart-to-heart connection? While there may be some exceptions, for the most part our system focuses on making a head-to-head connection.

            I can already hear some bureaucratic sighing, “Oh no! He’s another one of those liberal hippies who wants us all to have a group hug. Let’s make every child feel good, blah, blah, blah!” I don’t think we need to make everyone feel good. At times, anger can be a useful tool for teaching—particularly when a slacker student is pushed into the corner and comes out with an I’ll-show-them mentality. The truth is, we think about those things that impact us emotionally. The heart is the engine of the mind. Deep thinking without emotional engagement is virtually impossible.

            Individual teachers in the system do connect emotionally. But, the system as a whole is not designed for this. The system is designed around content when it should be designed around human nature!

            Detached from real world application. Academia is detached from real world applications. We divide things into artificial categories—Math, English or History. Problems outside the class are seldom chopped up into these little boxes. The classroom is such a detached environment. Kids don’t care about a train leaving Chicago at 60 mph and another train leaving Los Angeles at 45 mph. When will they meet? They do care about problems in their own neighborhood—like hunger, or crime or why there are people living underneath the bridge. This is particularly true when some of them are hungry or living underneath the bridge. People face problems everyday—problems they care deeply about and problems that will require applications of math, English, science, government and a whole host of other disciplines.

            The most detached people are often the ones at the top of the academic food chain—the tenured professors. The farther up the ladder they climb, the more specialized they become. Pretty soon the Ph.D. in education is no longer applying the dynamics of human nature in artistic ways in the class. He’s sitting in front of a computer screen, crunching numbers—boiling down something as complex as classroom interaction into a set of variables and looking for correlation and causation. And, with each number entered into the computer, he becomes a little more detached from the dynamics of the real world.

            Give them a big ugly problem. I see many students who lack the essential skills of creativity and critical thinking. I’ve asked myself the question over and over, “How do I teach those skills?” I keep coming up with the same answer. I need to give students a big ugly problem. It has to be a problem they don’t know how to solve. Then, I step back and let them struggle with it. And, I let them struggle some more. I let them work, work and work until they’ve either come up with a solution or they’ve exhausted all their resources. If they’ve exhausted all their resources, I give them a nudge—not much help, but just enough resources to continue the struggle. Then, I sit back and wait until they either solve the problem or exhaust all their resources. This process continues until they finally come up with a solution to the problem. This is how to teach creativity and critical thinking.

            Now, go ahead and try that with your average high school or college student. I dare you! Try it! The bitching, pissing and moaning from students will be unbearable. Some will complain to your supervisor. Some will just stare and you’ll feel their violent thoughts. Some will curl into the fetal position and stare out into space. Few will do the assignment. Most of their education up to this point has told them what to do and how to do it. It has given them answers instead of questions, and they simply don’t know how to handle the big ugly problem you just gave them.

            Most don’t know how to tap into their internal drives. Everything has taught them to follow externals, because the system is designed that way. They need to become emotionally engaged, because they need that fuel to think through and tackle the big ugly problem. This answers those who responded earlier in this essay by thinking, “Well, he just wants to engage people emotionally, so he can have a big group hug.” No, no, no! I want to engage people emotionally not to make them feel good. I want to engage them emotionally, because they’ll need that emotional engagement when I throw a big ugly problem in front of them. I don’t want fragile little flowers that wilt at the first sign of drought. I want people that when they’re pushed, they will push back—not in defiance or anger, but will push back by throwing their all into tackling the problem.

            I’m been teaching college over a decade and I’m in the process of working through my exit strategy. I can no longer play the game. I am a great teacher. But, I’m not going to keep working in a system that is in such utter ruins. I’ve tried to push students. They never push back. They deflect, manipulate and complain. And, students are often far more open to true education than administrators and bureaucrats—who are masters at deflecting, manipulating and blaming everyone but themselves. I believe the system is so sick, that it cannot be cured. A new system must be designed. All the problems in our system can be boiled down to one. Our education system doesn’t work, because it’s incongruent with human nature.