6 Reasons Teaching is the Most Awful/Awesome Job in the World

I have worked as a teacher, in some form or another, for the past decade. I was a teacher's assistant at a preschool, and tutor for elementary school kids. I currently teach sex ed and family life (it's really just teaching life) to middle school and high school age kids at a teen pregnancy prevention program. I also teach English composition at a community college, where the students range from age 17 to 65 (or older).

I never saw this occupation for myself growing up, but I absolutely love it. However, like any profession, there are positives and negatives. Most of the time, teaching is awesome, but there are plenty of times when it's awful, just maybe not in the ways you might think...


6. Students are stupid

So, so stupid. It's a constant deluge of stupidity. No matter the age, if they are in school, they are there to learn, and before people learn something, they are dumb as hell in that area. Nobody is born with knowledge. That's why all babies are complete imbeciles: they haven't been taught shit yet, or even how to shit yet.

This stupidity...maybe that word is too harsh...this lack of knowledge in students is the most obvious example of teaching as a gift and a curse. Students can make teachers lose their minds with their seemingly endless stupidity, but they also prove every day why teachers matter: students need us. A middle school student once told me that yellow skittles work as birth control. I thought it was an isolated idiotic thought, but apparently she was not the only one with the ridiculous belief. In fact, I've heard most of the insane claims in that link. So yeah, I'm constantly reminded how important my job is.

Teaching keeps you humble (despite what this post so far might lead you to believe). You are constantly reminded how stupid you once were because sometimes the dumb shit that students say sounds a lot like some dumb shit you used to say. Plus, when students don't know something, and you don't either, you're reminded that you're still not so smart yourself, jerk.

The fact is, today's students are smarter than you and I, and definitely a lot smarter than the generations before us. But they are ignorant (or "need instruction" if you want to be nice) in whatever subject you are teaching. Sometimes, their ignorance of a subject allows them to have moments of brilliant insight. They are not bogged down by facts and traditions and the awfulness of reality quite yet, so their naivete and lack of training in a subject often lets them see that subject in a fresh, innovative light.

When I taught pre-school, we did a lot of finger painting. That was my shit. One afternoon, I was painting a picture with two 5 year old girls. Like an asshole, I did my absolute best work. It was as if the spirit of Basquiat had possessed me and decided to change the world through finger paint. When I was done, one young girl looked at it and said, "Wow, that's so good! I want to do that. Why can't I draw like that? Mine sucks!" and then proceeded to cry.

As I sat there like an idiot racking my brain for a way to make the tears stop falling from this innocent creature's eyes, the other girl said, "It's okay, everybody draws differently. Whatever you draw is beautiful because it comes from you."

Oh my god. Now I was about to cry. Thankfully, the girl wasn't anymore.

What more can you say to that? I handed the adorable genius my pay for the day and walked home with the knowledge that a 5 year old was able to create a teachable moment better than I could. Ok, I didn't do that, but maybe I should have.

It was a moment that made me question my ability, yet, it also gave me the desire to improve my abilities and made me understand that there is no profession like that of a teacher because...


5. You learn more than you teach

I was always a better student than anything else. I can take a test like a motherfucker. I can read mostly anything and understand it enough to write a whole treatise. But I was never as good as a student when I was actually a student as I am now as a teacher. That was a hell of a sentence.

There is a teaching theory/technique that presupposes that individuals learn more about a topic when teaching it to others than when simply trying to learn for one's self. In my experience, that is absolutely true. As a grad student, several assignments required us to teach the class about given topics, and I never learned more about a topic than when I had to prepare a lesson and conduct said lesson in front of the entire class.

As a teacher, you constantly learn about yourself, about others, and about whatever topics you are teaching. If you are open-minded (a good teacher should be) you will face the reality that you are frightfully incompetent in the very subject you teach. You may know a lot, but it's never enough. I learned early on to prepare more than I think I will need because anything I don't know will inevitably come up, and every student will be looking to me for the answer.

The shame you feel when you don't have a response is one hell of a motivator though. You never again want to see their expectant faces and disappoint them with your lack of knowledge, so you prepare even more.

Your own stupidity is just one type of motivation, however...


4. Its an honorable profession

No, I'm not trying to imply that the possibility of David Lee Roth singing to you in class should be motivation to teach. I'm not not saying it either.

This one gets tossed out a lot when discussing teachers. Everybody wants a job they can be proud of right? The importance of teachers is understood by society at large (mostly). We hear it all the time: teachers rock!

See? All the time.

Besides the obvious fact that honor and respect don't always manifest as financial stability, when thirty middle schoolers are all yelling at the top of their lungs and two of them have cursed you out before noon, society's respect means jack shit. A lot of kids look at their teacher as the enemy by default and stay in that mindset until they are out of school. I've heard plenty of parents talk about how they wished they treated their teachers better (I've said it myself) and it's great that they finally understand the importance of teachers later in life, but that doesn't really help when their son or daughter is calling everybody in class a fag while your trying to teach the Pythagorean theorem to twenty five 12 year olds.

If you're a real teacher, that's okay though. You'll deal with the worst and the best that kids have to offer and you'll deal with those who still disparage the teaching profession and you'll deal with the meager compensation. All of the negatives on this list barely even register on the scale compared to the positives. Teaching requires patience and empathy, but those are two things everyone should work on anyway. It really is an honorable profession, and part of having honor is accepting that you will not get rewarded for the job you do.

It's not about whether people notice you, it's about what you notice in your students...


3. You see progress. Eventually. Maybe

As opposed to a regular school teacher, at the teen pregnancy prevention program, I get to see kids mature and develop for the better part of a decade. It's amazing, and it's something I need to keep in mind on a daily basis working with the younger kids because progress isn't necessary visible day to day. It is happening, though.

Of course, when you do start noticing improvement and progress, cruel fate steps in: it's time for them to move on. Even after seeing them grow for 6-7 years, I sometimes feel like it's not enough. These kids who didn't know a damn thing about the world when they started are now bright young adults. You want to keep guiding them and helping them develop and you want to experience their lives with them as you have been doing for so long, but you have to let them go. An educator's job isn't finished until students can go out on their own, so we have to eventually let them do that. That's the goal from day one. When it happens, it's beautiful, but heartbreaking because now they have to move on with their lives without your daily guidance.

You can never get too upset, though, because there's always more...

2. The endless parade of students

This song doesn't have anything to do with this entry except that it has "Parade" in the title. I just like it.

...and more and more and more. And they all have the same issues as the last batch you taught, with slight twists that keep you on your toes.

When you are asked the same question literally a hundred times, the natural human response is to lose your shit a little bit. How many times do I have to explain what a uterus is people, jeezus!?! The thing to remember is that they haven't heard it a hundred times (unless you've told them a hundred times, which justifies shit losing). It's not their fault you have to explain the same topic to hundreds of students every year; to each new group of students, it's the first time. How are they supposed to know the topic? They came to you for that. It can be repetitive as hell, but it makes you try different methods and tactics so you don't bore yourself to death. You try to come up with the most entertaining and effective way to teach any given subject. Students need to be stimulated to learn, and everybody doesn't learn the same way. You have to use different methods to reach everybody; therefore, experimenting with different techniques to keep yourself sane is actually benefiting  the students as well.

Teaching requires a concerted effort. It requires getting out of your comfort zone, unless your comfort zone is talking to 30 strangers that hate you by default because you're giving them work. I'm not a big conversationalist, but I've learned that it's important to engage kids in conversations to get them interested in learning. I've also learned that opening up to students, showing them that you're not afraid to look foolish by telling an embarrassing story about yourself or doing something silly is the quickest way to a student's heart. They have to trust you to learn from you.

I've always believed that getting out of your comfort zone is vital to leading a rewarding life, and sometimes being forced to do so is necessary. Just because my philosophy is to get out of my comfort zone, it doesn't mean I voluntarily do it often. When it comes to teaching I do, however, because the rewards are plentiful, and the effort is well worth it.


1. They will idolize you

This mostly applies to younger students, but if you make a connection with them, students will absolutely idolize you. Awesome, right? Everyone wants to be an idol, that's the whole reason American Idol exists.

It definitely can give you confidence and self esteem to be looked at as an all-mighty bestower of knowledge: "Look at this youngster coming to me for advice...I'm the man!" you might think.

But then...

"Look at this youngster coming to me for advice about whether or not to have sex for the first time...Oh shit. Oh shiiiit." I have thought.

Why are you putting your faith and trust in me? I can't even decide what to eat for dinner every night. What I say could affect this person's entire life and possibly the life of another human being (or two if they don't use the condom I give them). What if I say the wrong thing?

You very well may say the wrong thing (when it comes to an opinion; if it's a fact-based question and you're not sure, use Google dammit!) but if you are doing your best to look out for the kids while allowing them to keep their own sovereignty, then it's all good. They barely remember what you say anyway, it's how you say it, and most importantly, that you say it at all. They remember you being there for them, not the exact words that come out of your mouth. And when they screw up, the urge is to give them a grand lecture that will make them regret their actions, but for the most part, if they messed up, they know they did; they just need to know that you will still be there for them despite their mistakes. Don't let them off the hook, but don't act like they're the first ones to ever misbehave or make a mistake.

The greatest thing about the job, though, is that you end up idolizing the students. Life is unbelievably difficult for an unacceptable amount of children in this country, and when you get to know your students and understand what so many of them have to go through just to get to school, the resiliency they show is truly inspiring.

If you teach long enough, and you get to watch wave after wave of students grow into intelligent, successful individuals, it's more rewarding than any other job in the world.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Spoilers: Enough Said.

Whassup weedles! No time ta fuck aroun tonite. I got a migraine n sum asshole jus spoiled tha last Pitbulls and Parolees fer me.

Which brings me ta tha subject at hand: spoilers. We all know n hate em. Before yer able ta see tha latest episode a yer favorite show er watch a movie ya really wanna see or, fer ya ancient bastards out therr, read a book er sum shit, sum asshole on twitter or in tha hallway at yer office ruins tha fuckin endin. No "spoiler alert!", no askin if evrybody in tha room er on their friends list has seen it. Jus sum stupid fuckin comment, er even worse sum lame ass joke, that kills tha story for ya n fuckin rips yer heart out n sprays diarrhea all over it.

This type a shit has been goin on fer centuries. U know sum muthafucka listenin ta Homer spit The Iliad fer 27 n a half hours bak in tha day had it ruined by sum random dipshit walkin by in tha 28th hour who jus decides ta spout off bout Achilles stabbin Hector thru tha neck in tha end cuz he heard tha story last week n he has to let everybody fuckin know it cuz lettin u know he knows sumthin bout pop culture that u dont is tha only fuckin way he can connect wit other livin beins n provin that he heard sumthin first is tha only way ta giv meanin ta his worthless fuckin piece a shit life.

Don't fuck wit The Iliad man, fer real.

Nowadays its a lil worse cuz a tha internet. Ya cant get away from tha shit. Evry body n evry website is talkin bout enertainment all tha dam time n tha chances are, less ya watch evry piece a enertainment yer intrested in tha exact moment it comes out, yer gonna have sum shit spoiled for ya. Ya DVR Sons of Anarchy but cant watch it fer two days n before ya do fuckin Stuart Scott is makin sum kinda corny reference to it on SportsCenter n yer like what tha fuck does Tara gettin killed hav ta do wit tha fuckin Serena Williams match Im tryin ta see highlights of, Stuart? Huh? Oh shit, spoiler alert! My bad tardy Sons of Anarchy fans.

See? Shit is unavoidable in this day n age. But its still fuckin horrible when it happens ta u. Thas why I don't like talkin bout shows I like if they r still runnin. At all. Cuz even tha basic fuckin conjecture evrybody feels tha urge ta share ruins shit: "I think that blah blah is gonna blah blah wit blah blah," or, "I heard that tha actor who plays blah blah isnt in it next season so hes gonna blah." Fuck. Don't tell me! I dont want yer fuckin hypothesis or sum rumor ya heard poisonin tha experience for me.

Muthafuckas love talkin bout shit theyre into, n if they know a lil more bout it than u, they r jus dyin ta share that info. They say shit like, "I won't ruin it, I'll just say this: yer never gonna believe it!" Or, "Oh you havent seen that episode yet? I wont spoil it but it was insane!" Or, "Oh yer gonna watch that? I wont say anythin but it was good til tha ending." Assholes! Ya dont wanna say shit but ya all said shit! Now I'm watchin sumthin wit a certain expectation in my head that I aint wanna hav. I want a blank fuckin canvas in my head wen I watch sumthin. I dont wanna read tha plot summary on netflix. I aint readin any reviews. I aint even lookin at tha posters any more cuz even major studios wanna ruin their own movies.

N sumtimes just seein the cast ruins a movie.

Shit, I dont even wanna know tha run time, that way I cant look at my watch n see how much time is left so i can figure out what type a plan tha hero can come up wit. Like, is it gonna be some long, elaborate, brilliant shit er sum quick get in, get out, bullshit deus ex machina endin? Even my own conjecture fucks me up.

After I watch a movie er show Ill read evry fuckin thing about it, whether I love it er hate it. But I dont wanna know shit before I watch.

Im puttin a permanent ban on talkin bout tv shows til theyre off tha air. I was gonna say sum shit like till a year after they come out, but some lil muthafucka jus picked up Game of Thrones season 1 right now n deserves ta not hav that shit ruined. As fer movies, they gotta be out on dvd or netflix fer a solid decade before any discussions bout em. Matter a fact, theres gotta be a remake or a gritty reboot before anybody talks about tha original. Then again, theyre remakin shit that came out like 5 years earlier, so lets stick wit tha decade rule.

Thas it. No more talkin bout shows er movies. That should make tha internet more fuckin tolerable. It prolly also means no more human interaction cuz like 95% a yer conversations r bout shows er movies, but i dont think thas a bad thing either. All yer yappin is givin me this fuckin headache.

Jus playin, humans. I still love yall. Jus stop ruinin my shit. Peace.

Spoilers Won't Persist...or Shit Will Pop-off!

Fountain of Youths

The boy reached for the toy car that had rolled under the table. His mother figured it would keep him busy during dinner, but it was mostly keeping her busy. He kicked at the car and sent it flying across the room, under an empty table near the far wall.

Jack grabbed the plastic orange cup of Cheerios his mother packed for him and ran to the car. He bent to pick it up and the Cheerios spilled from his bowl.

"Of course," his mother said.

She walked over to her son, ready to scold him. A waitress nearby said, "Don't worry ma'am, we'll get that cleaned up."

She contemplated making a scene for the child's sake (he had to learn responsibility somehow) but she held her tongue, nodded, then went to collect her child off the floor where he was now spread out on his belly, reaching for the car.

He couldn't reach it with his short fingers, so he crawled back out towards his mother. When he stood up, eating the last of the Cheerios from his bowl, his mother saw a white marble fountain she had failed to notice before. It depicted a child dumping a pot of water into a small pool the shape of a sea shell. She looked closer at the statue, then back to her son. After repeating the motion a few times, she shook her head in disbelief and called to her husband:

"Hey Will, you gotta come see this."

Her husband looked up from his conversation with his mother and grandmother. It was his grandmother's 90th birthday party and the family was celebrating at her favorite German restaurant.

"Will, check this out."

He walked to his wife, putting his arm around her waist.

"What's up, hon?"

"Look at that statue. Look familiar to you?"

"Yeah. It kinda looks like every little kid statue ever."

"You don't think he looks like Jack?"

"Sure, I guess. It looks like a little white kid with long hair, so yeah."

"Whatever. It looks exactly like him and you know it."

He squeezed her tight, kissed her on the cheek, whispered, "Whatever you say dahhling," then went back to talk to the matriarch of the family.

She laughed and took her son's hand, leading him back to their table.

"The car!" he shouted.

"We'll get it later. We're gonna eat now."

As his face began to scrunch up and his vocal chords prepared to unleash a furious screech, he saw a waitress in full German attire (green dirndl dress and pigtails) carrying four gigantic beer steins and screaming at the top of her lungs:

"We got 4 more here so let's hear it loud and clear...Ziggy zoggy ziggy zoggy!"

And all the people in the room schouted back:

"Oy oy oy!"

By the time the cycle repeated three more times, Jack had forgotten all about his car. He sat down at his table in between his mother and father. Two more waitresses came out carrying several large, colorful hats; a collection of various animals, food items, and other random silly objects. Jack's mom got a tiara and veil. His dad got a viking helmet. He was given a hat with an elelphant trunk and ears. Soon, every one of the family members was wearing some ridiculous hat on their heads.

The little boy sat in wonder at all the adults with the silly headgear. Even his Uncle Randy, whom Jack never saw even crack a smile, was wearing a giant hamburger on his head. If someone asked, this was the best day of little Jack's life.

He didn't complain when his mother cut up the wiener schnitzel and put it on the small plate in front of him. He didn't try to stop her from giving him sauerkraut and cottage cheese. And he didn't even flinch when she scooped some of her red cabbage onto his plate. 

His mother and father shared a surprised yet ecstatic look over his blonde head.

Jack continued to watch the adults with the ridiculous hats eat and drink and laugh while he shoveled food into his mouth. The taste barely registered. What was this magical place that made all the boring adults in his life fun?

"Do you want some more, honey?" his mother asked.

"No thanks."

Again, the parents shared a look of amusement at their son's newfound politeness.

As the adults continued to eat, waitresses continued to bring out beer steins and lead the crowd in cheers. Maybe they held the secret of this magical place.

When one waitress, a particularly rotund and loud woman, got close to him, he turned to get a good look at her. He looked her up and down, studying every inch of the majestic creature, trying to find any clue as to her power over his normally boring family.

The woman noticed the boy's quizzical expression.

"Hey there little man! You like what you see?" She let out a hearty laugh, holding her belly with her free hand.

The normally reserved young boy remained steady, refusing to take his eyes off her commanding presence. 

"What a cute little boy!" She tussled his hair and walked towards the kitchen. 

He stared after her until she disappeared around the corner. His parents were stuffing their faces with the German cuisine, his father chasing it down with a fine German stout. The rest of his family was doing the same. Even his grandmother was drinking from a giant stein, laughing between bites and sips.

He silently slid under the table, crawled out, and walked in the direction of the waitress without being noticed.

Then he remembered his car. He ran to the empty table and crawled underneath. He didn't see the car, but he noticed something strange. The wall behind the table, near the fountain with the young boy, had a small hole where it met the floor. There were green leaves draped over the entire wall, and it looked to Jack like an entrance to a jungle. He crawled towards it. He reached his finger into the hole, then pushed forward. The hole widened as he went, and he easily reached in to his elbow.

He pushed further and a force like a strong wind pulled him in.

-

Will laughed at the joke his grandmother told at every family function for the past 15 years and took a swig from his stein. He reached towards his steak and said, "How do you like your dinner, Jack-o?"

He looked towards his son's place at the table. Empty. He looked around at the rest of the long table where his family loudly ate, not seeing his son's bright yellow head.

He looked around the room. There were two other large groups taking up three long tables. A few small children Jack's age were huddled in the corner of the room playing with bright plastic toys, but none were Jack.

He leaned over to his wife and said, "Hon. Where's Jack?"

-

The large police officer was trying to calm the crying, screaming woman to no avail. His partner was talking to the woman's husband, the restaurant's manager, and a crowd of family members.

"We have looked everywhere and talked to everyone in the entire building, folks," the grey haired officer said, visibly disturbed by the situation that was thrust upon him. "We have officer outside searching everywhere in a 6 block radius. Are you sure there are no cubbyholes or boarded up rooms or something we didn't check, sir?" he asked the manager.

"We have turned the restaurant upside down and harassed every one of my customers for the last 3 hours. There is nowhere else to look, I'm sorry."

"Well my son is somewhere, dammit!" the child's father yelled. "He didn't just evaporate into thin air!"

The mother was pushing her way past the large officer towards the restaurant manager. He backed up and stood behind the other police officer.

"Keep her away from me!" the manager yelled.

The grey haired officer blocked her way and felt her wrath in the form of her fists pounding on his chest. The large officer grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back.

"Let go of me!" she screamed. The scene was surreal: a petite brunette woman with a tiara on her head pounding on the chest of one police officer and being dragged away by another.

"You can not assault a police officer ma'am," the large officer calmly responded.

"Don't you dare..." she began, then stopped, distracted by something behind the officer. "Wait! Do you hear that?" she yelled to nobody in particular.

"Hear what, honey?" her husband asked. He was almost as concerned about his wife's ability to handle this situation as he was about the situation itself.

"That yelling! How could you not hear that? Jack was yelling out for me!"

"I didn't hear anything," Will said, tears welling in his eyes. "Nobody heard any..."

"I think it's coming from the statue!" She rushed toward the fountain and put her ear next to the little boy's marble face.

Her family stared in disbelief and obvious pity. The last few hours had been emotionally devastating. Her husband walked to her and put his hand on her shoulder. 

"Honey? Honey, I think..." he took the tiara off her head and caressed her curly brunette hair. The gesture usually helped calm her down, but nothing was helping in this situation.

"Shhhhh!" She cupped her hands around her ears and pressed her face closer to the statue. "Be quiet! I think I can hear him!"

Her husband dropped his head to his chest and sobbed.

-

The blonde woman watched her son crawling on the ground, pushing his toy truck, and rolled her eyes. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring toys to the restaurant. Then again, he wouldn't last through the party without something to keep his attention.

"Bobby, get off the floor sweetie. You'll get all dirty."

He started to crawl underneath an empty table at the far end of the room. 

"Bobby, get over here," she said as she stood and walked towards him. As she got closer, a marble fountain with the statue of a child caught her attention. She couldn't help but notice the resemblance to her son.

"Hey Stephen, come here for a second. Take a look at this."

-

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Death of The Warrior

The Ultimate Warrior died yesterday, and a little piece of every American male age 25-40 died along with him. Although my desire to watch grown men toss each other's mostly naked body around a ring vanished long ago, what I hope to always remain is that sense of joy I felt when the masked muscular mass with the colorful tassles sprinted down the entrance ramp, grabbed the ropes and shook with all his might, then jumped into the ring and thoroughly destroyed his opponent. He was a menace. A true Warrior.

Plus he was absolutely bonkers.

I remember watching those interviews and his matches as a little kid and thinking this was the perfect representation of a man, instead of questioning why they let a clearly psychotic man on camera like I should have been. He was considered a "good guy", but he still managed to be a badass and avoid the corniness of other "good guys" like Hulk Hogan. In fact, his rivalry with Hogan was one of the main reasons I, and so many others, loved him. He was like the cool indie rock band to Hogan's Coldplay. Fuck Coldplay. Give me some off the wall crazy shit nobody has ever heard before. That was the Ultimate Warrior. 

I had a lot of action figures and toys as a kid but I distinctly remember the Ultimate Warrior figure and the Ultimate Warrior pillow. 

Yeah, I was pretty badass, too.

He was a staple of my youth, and it's kind of weird that he's gone. 

Actually, it's not weird at all, it's just making me reflect on a part of my youth I don't usually think about. The fact of the matter is, Warrior dying is kind of par for the course with wrestlers. He's lucky he made it to 54. An inordinate amount of wrestlers die before 50. The amount of wrestlers from the Warrior's generation who have already died would be considered a tragic epidemic if it was any other type of sport/entertainment/business. It's just considered collateral damage for the WWE.

These guys give their bodies and their lives for their jobs, and most don't even make a decent living. It's a lot like the NFL, but much, much worse. The NFL denies guaranteed contracts because they don't want to pay athletes who wind up getting injured. WWE just hires all of its wrestlers as independent contractors so they don't have to pay health care costs. So even if the wrestler makes millions, most of it goes to his health care. And much like the NFL, the people in charge could not care less, as long as the money keeps coming in.

It's no secret that most of these guys use steroids, just like during the "steroid era" of professional baseball. So the fact that many of them suffer complications from their sustained drug use is largely their own fault. Now, I'm not going to try to defend them, but just consider their predicament. If they don't take steroids, they won't be as successful (because the majority of wrestlers are doing steroids) and they won't make a livable wage; besides the top guys, like the Rock, or the Undertaker, wrestlers really don't get paid that well. So to reach the top, and to overcome their often debilitating injuries (they don't get sick days so they have to perform no matter what in order to get paid) they juice up. It's not like anybody is testing them, so what's to stop them? 

Besides, maybe these guys are okay with their shortened lives because it's not about the number of years you live, it's how you spend the years you do have; these guys got the glory, the fame, the thrill, or whatever the hell wearing tiny spandex and grappling with other grown men gives them. The day before he died, Warrior (he legally changed his name) said this on WWE Monday Night Raw:

"Every man’s heart one day beats its final beat. His lungs breathe a final breath. And if what that man did in his life makes the blood pulse through the body of others, and makes them bleed deeper and something larger than life, then his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized."

And immortalized he was. His name, his legacy, lives on. 

But was it all worth it? If he knew his fate going into wrestling, would he still have done it? Do any of these guys really know what they're getting into?

And then there's the kids.

Seriously, though, what about the young fans. Do the kids know what's really going on with these guys? I know I didn't when I was a fan. I understood as I got older, after I outgrew wrestling, but what about the kid who wanted to become a wrestler? Or another type of athlete. What is the real effect of rampant steroid use in professional sports on young athletes? The mentality becomes: do whatever it takes to get the glory. Take anything that will give you an advantage and let the lawyers figure out the technicalities. You may get a suspension or fine at most, but you'll still have "the glory."

I realize that wrestling especially is just entertainment, but it seems something should be done to stop this endless cycle of drugs and early deaths. And I realize that I am implicit in all this for (once upon a time) watching these guys and buying the merchandise. They give up their bodies for our entertainment and we act surprised or outraged when they develop crippling addictions to painkillers or other drugs.

I don't know. I don't want wrestling, or any sport, to stop. As far as wrestling goes, many kids find it highly entertaining, and that alone gives it value. I also can understand why some adults (men) are still into it. It's a soap opera for guys. Even better, it's a live show where guys kick each other's ass. And if you think, "But it's horrible acting!" tell that to the guy who stayed in character with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. Sports, and sports entertainment, are a necessary and mostly positive aspect of our society. It just seems like something better could be done for people who sacrifice so much for our entertainment. 

I no longer think of the Ultimate Warrior as the perfect representation of man, but I do think he was an amazing performer who made a lasting impact in his time on Earth, and that's all anybody can ever really ask for.

The Ultimate Warrior gave me a lot of joy as a kid, and it seemed like he had quite a bit of fun himself...

"Nightmares are the best part of my dayyyyy!"

...so for that I say, "Thank you, Warrior, you glorious psychopath."

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

A Gang Starr Thing

March 8th was the 20th anniversary of a very important album in my life: Hard to Earn by Gang Starr. There are many "important" albums throughout my life, and many came out approximately 20 years ago (a fact made possible by 2 converging forces: it was the time of my life when I was the most impressionable, and it was a time that many consider the peak of my preferred music genre). I chose to write about Gang Starr because we have lost one of the members (RIP GURU) and because I think they are highly under-rated and often overlooked when talking about hip hop legends. People who know hip hop would never overlook them, but the average music fan does, and I think that's a travesty.

Gang Starr holds a special place in my heart for many reasons. They were a bold, confident duo (on the mic and on the beats) who I admired as a mostly quiet, reserved teenager. Their subdued boldness and unassuming confidence provided me with the courage to purchase their album Daily Operation as a 12 year old, despite the fact that it had the dreaded "Parental Advisory" sticker. I didn't let that stop me, and I came up with the brilliant-for-a-twelve-year-old-kid solution: I peeled off the sticker before my parents could see it. The cashiers at Sam Goody didn't mind letting little kids buy whatever they wanted, but my parents were another matter. I couldn't even watch Pulp Fiction in my parents' house as a college graduate, so an explicit rap album as a pre-teen was obviously out of the question. 

I needed that album though. I needed to own those gritty masterpieces instead of waiting for them to come on Rap City Tha Bassment with Joe Clair.

Take it Personal

Ex Girl to the Next Girl

My bravery was rewarded with audial amazement, and the brilliant strategy of peeling off the sticker that I devised because of this album allowed me to get dozens of other classic rap albums that I may not have had the courage to buy otherwise. 

At that time, I had almost completely transitioned from listening to groups like Motley Crue and Def Leppard to groups like Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince and A Tribe Called Quest. Gang Starr finalized that transition. Daily Operation opened up a window into a world of darker, grittier hip hop, and Hard to Earn blew the doors open.

Hard to Earn is one of a handful of albums (cassettes) that I remember taking on my 8th grade trip to Washington, DC. (Enter the Wu-Tang, and Masta Ace Incorporated: SlaughtaHouse are the other two I remember right now). It was a long trip, I had a walkman, and I played those tapes out. To this day, I can recite most verses and remember the exact sequencing of the songs. From the lyrics to the voice and flow, to the drum patterns and samples, even the artwork, it was a perfect album to me. 

And a perfect hip hop single...

On one of the many classic songs I made with the legendary unsigned hip hop collaborative known as the ChipMunk Crew, I completely jacked Hard to Earn's skit "Aight...chill" (where random rappers leave a message on DJ Premier's phone over a beat) for our classic single "Say it Twice, Or Even Two Times." As they say, blatant imitation is the best form of music, right?

Gang Starr defined an era (again, an era known as the greatest ever in hip hop) and inspired countless musicians. After Hard to Earn, they put out another 2 albums (Moment of Truth - a classic in its own right - and The Ownerz) and a greatest hits album with some excellent new material. While doing all this, Guru, the MC with the golden voice, made countless guest verses as well as the very cool Jazzmatazz album series; and DJ Premier collaborated with basically every legendary MC ever (Biggie, Jay-Z, and Nas, to name a few, Jeru the Damaja, Group Home, Rakim and KRS-One to name a few more) crafting classic albums and songs year after year.

But Guru and Premier were always at their best with each other. Their chemistry was so powerful and natural, it felt like they were two parts of a whole, like twin brothers. Unfortunately, when Guru passed, they were not on the best of terms. But friends go through those periods, and true friends, friends you call family, always reconcile. I want to believe they would have at some point. Reading this article about the making of Hard to Earn gives me that feeling. Premier seems to almost break down when reminiscing, saying, "I miss that dude so much, man." There is no mention of any disagreement near the end, it's all fond memories. The best part of the interview is when he describes their first fight (and yes, it sounds as much like a marriage in the article as I made it sound just now). He talks about how violent the fight got, pointing to the still visible scar where Guru bit into his knuckles. Like many other great music groups, and many other families, they fought. Intensely. But they worked it out. Immediately after the fight, they were in the studio recording. Guru laid down the vocals for "Now You're Mine" then asked Premier if it was good. Premier said yes, Guru replied, "Fuck you" then walked out. 

That's a beautiful scene, because that was the chemistry, the realness, they were able to express so vividly through their music. Their songs almost felt like battles between two geniuses: Guru wanted to destroy any beat Premier gave him, and Premier wanted to make beats that blew Guru away. And they both succeeded, their tumultuous relationship resulting in a cohesive, hypnotizing soundscape. You can feel the intense love and hate emanating from these two representatives of the most important elements of hip hop, the MC and the DJ, coming together as one. That somewhat violent tension is what keeps their music sounding as fresh today as it did in the early 90s.

So stop sleepin on Gang Starr. Cuz Gang Starr has got to be the sure shot. Peace.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

The Epitomical Artist of Our Time

...is Ol' Dirty Bastard.

I don't mean the best necessarily. Not the most popular certainly. But the epitomical. The perfect representation, the epitome, of an artist from the late 20th/early 21st Century.

He created  the Wu-Tang Clan with his cousins the RZA and the GZA. They made a classic, culturally significant debut album and several successful, mostly classic, solo albums. Brilliantly, they all signed a deal to one label as a group, with a clause stating they could sign with whatever label they wanted as solo artists, giving them much more freedom and money. This strategy is still used by many artists nowadays, especially rappers.

Besides the cultural significance and commercial success, ODB also received a lot of critical success. He is a Grammy nominated, platinum-selling rapper who wrote all his own rhymes; even more impressive when you consider lyrics like: "Bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh, bluh, better stop/Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-Dirtiest place to be/You white Flintstone, bitch."

Clearly, he is a talented, successful, and influential artist. But is he the epitomical artist?

Yes. I already said that. Pay attention. Now here's why he epitomizes artists of our time. 

Crossover Appeal
To be a defining artist of one's generation, that artist needs to be successful. If you took one look at Ol' Dirty Bastard, from his ridiculous hair and teeth to his ridiculous name, you would assume he would be the last guy to have a mainstream, top 40 pop hit; yet, in the same year he had a hit rap single with a video of him bugging out with other Wu members in a dimly lit hallway, and another hit rap single comprised almost entirely in gibberish, he also appeared on a hit pop single with the one of the most successful musicians ever: Mariah Carey. It was an unusual and unexpected collaboration, but the outcome was magic. Mariah helped bring Ol Dirty, and the Wu, to the suburbs and the little white girls (and their parents' money) within. Oh, and Dirty absolutely stole the show. You can go anywhere, right now, and say, "Me and Mariiiiiiiahhh," and someone will finish the line for you. You probably just did it now.

This was an "Ebony and Ivory" moment for hip hop. It was bridging the gap between rap and mainstream pop music. Like "Walk this Way" allowed rock fans to accept rap and allowed rappers to venture into other genres, "Fantasy Remix" made it acceptable for a grimy rapper to appear on an R&B song. Another Wu member, Method man, may have gotten the Grammy voters approval with the "All I Need" Mary J. Blige remix, but Dirty really started the trend and perfected it at the same time.

He also made a rather coherent and entertaining contribution to R&B singer Jon B's song Everytime a month before he died, leaving evidence that he may have put out quality material if he lived longer.

And let's not forget Dirty's (once-again) show stealing appearance on "Ghetto Superstar" with Pras from the Fugees and Mya, off the amazing soundtrack from Bulworth. ODB wasn't afraid to work with anyone, and it usually turned into an immediate classic.

Horrible Collaborations

Not always, though. All the greats do random songs with questionable people, either for publicity or relevancy or just for money, especially rappers, and especially as they age. Look how many work with Bieber and Miley these days. They are not doing it for artistic integrity. ODB's song with Mariah, although certainly an attempt to appeal to the mainstream, was a good song with a credible artist. On the other hand, ODB had no shame taking 30 grand from those horrible clown rappers ICP and giving them incoherent mumbling over a 2 day studio session, which they turned into four lines on one of their unbearable songs. Google it if you want, it's not going on my page.

Criminal Shenanigans
The minimum requirement to become a "real" rapper is having a criminal record. Dirty had a criminal rap sheet longer than his rap rap sheet. The minimum requirement for "really real" rappers is getting shot. ODB got shot in 1994 and again in 1998, long before 50 Cent made getting shot an immediate path to rap super-stardom.

And of course, criminal activity is not exclusive to rap.

I'll leave this completely unrelated photo here.

Artists in general are known for getting into trouble with the law, but Dirty made artists getting into trouble with the law an art form unto itself. 

The same year he had an album in the top ten on the charts, he appeared on an MTV segment in which he took two of his thirteen(!!!) kids to the welfare office in a limousine to pick up his welfare check. I guess his debut album cover should have been a dead giveaway: Dirty wasn't playin around when it came to collecting from the government.

Pictured: a man who takes entitlements seriously.

No one even compares to Dirty in this category, and the streets would forever love him for these types of antics. 

In another "Hero of the Hood" moment, after escaping from a drug treatment facility, he recorded some music with RZA, did a show at a major venue in NYC, and was finally caught while performing and signing autographs in a McDonald's parking lot in Philly. 

Recently, an FBI file was released, documenting ODB's suspected connection to three murders, a shootout with the NYPD, and a RICO Act investigation against the Wu Tang Clan. Holy shit! What other musician ever had a RICO investigation against them?

Of course, the flip side to him being such a criminal (mastermind?) was that he often didn't show up to shows because he was on probation. And crack.  

Drugs
Yeah, his crackheadedness was not an act, unlike some so-called artists these days.

Again, photo unrelated.

He not only behaved, looked, and sounded like a crackhead, Russell Jones was an official crackhead. It's part of what made him such a great artist, or it was caused by his artistry. Or both. Who knows, but damn, artists be doin drugs! Like Phillip Seymour Hoffman or Ray Charles or Lil' Wayne (an artist who was directly influenced by the weirdness of ODB) drug addiction was central to the perception of ODB as an artist and to his creative process. Throughout history, artists and drugs have gone hand in hand, and ODB was a living representation of that symbiosis.

But like Clapton, nose to hand would be more accurate.

Award Show Interruptions
Everybody remembers Kanye interrupting Taylor Swift at the VMAs. It even became a meme: "I'mma let you finish..." Of course, Kanye wasn't the first (not even at an MTV award show) nor was he the most quotable. If Twitter was around when ODB interrupted the Grammy's, the servers would have crashed (I used the video of the incident to start my last post, which gave me the idea for this post.) Nowadays, interrupting awards shows is par for the course. Once again, Dirty pretty much started it, and he did it on the biggest stage possible for a musician. He also had an actual purpose. Everyone thought he was just babbling when he said "Wu Tang is for the children" (see? much more memorable quote) when in fact he was spreading the love and wisdom of the Wu. What most people never knew is that on the night before the Grammys, Ol' Dirty Bastard saved a 6 year old kid's life. He visited the kid in the hospital for weeks until the press found out.

Kanye might be a great artist, and I thought his stage interruption was hilarious, but he never saved shit.

Nicknames/Delusions of Grandeur
The entire Wu Tang Clan is known for popularizing the accumulation and utilization of numerous nicknames. Ol Dirty alone had over ten thousand nicknames. For his last incarnation, he named himself Big Baby Jesus. That's pissing in the face of the Savior on a larger scale than the Beatles could even dream of. And now guys are calling themselves all sorts of variations of god.

In some cases, they even make songs proclaiming "I am a God" and tell people to hurry up with their damn croissants. That level of absurdity can only be attributed to the influence of ODB.

Notice the position and pose of the artists in the above images. Damn...I never realized how much Kanye copied ODB till just now.

Big Baby Jesus aka Osirus aka Dirt McGirt aka Ason Unique aka Dirt Dog aka Peanut the Kidnapper was an artist who didn't care about convention and attacked taboos. He recruited Pharrell (way before the gigantic cowboy hat) to produce the majority of an album named "Nigga Please". He is the Richard Pryor of rap, saying anything he pleased in order to shock and amuse (their drug habits build the connection, too). Just going to a store and buying an album called "That Nigger's Crazy" or "Nigga Please" is a socio-political statement. Nas tried to do something similar years later but chickened out and called his album "Untitled" instead. It takes balls, or a serious drug addiction, to release a major label record with that word on it, and ODB had both.

Reality TV
Here's undeniable proof that ODB is the epitome of our celebrity culture, if not the epitome of an artist: he had a VH1 reality special about his life. True to ODB, it was filmed while he was on parole and living in his mother's house. This is the type of show washed up artists would kill for these days.

Early death
Lastly, and most importantly when it comes to being a legendary artist of a mythic stature: he died too soon. You can be a great artist and live long, but a true artist dies young, leaving us all to wonder what they could have been, instead of finding out what they actually turn into.

Forget sympathy for the Devil, have some sympathy for your fans and  stop already!

And in the case of legendary artists like ODB, looking back at their lives, there seems to be no possible alternative ending. Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain are other examples. It's hard to imagine Jimi as a 60 year old man. His death is so iconical it's as if it had to happen when and how it did. The same goes for Dirty. Russell Tyrone Jones wasn't meant to live till old age. 

Towards the end, a writer for The New Yorker said ODB was a "folk hero" because of his words and actions, especially his interactions with the law. There's also a numerological conspiracy surrounding his death (that I completely made up) which always adds to folk hero status: Dirty's death was foretold in the introduction of his solo debut album. In an audio clip from a kung fu movie, a character says, "We have only 35 chambers, there is no 36." Another voice replies, "I know...but I want to create a new chamber." ODB died 2 days before his 36th birthday at RZA's recording studio, 36 Chambers Records.

But despite what the first voice says, Dirty did create a new chamber: a level of artistry that all can aspire to reach.

ODB was the 36th Chamber.

He is the epitome of an artist from our time.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed

I'll give you something to talk about

I was gonna put Bonnie Raitt's "Give em Something to Talk About" here, but then I realized...it's Bonnie Raitt. So instead, here is ODB, giving the world something to talk about at the Grammy's.

This post is a Public Service Announcement for all those deficient in the art of small talk. I often find it difficult to engage in the mindless, meandering word-combination chaos known as "polite conversation," not because I don't enjoy the company and conversation of my fellow humans, but because sometimes I simply find the act of making my mouth form audible, coherent syllables about the weather too tiresome. However, the real problem I have is avoiding topics deemed off limits. I'm like a dog with food; just because you put it out of sight in the cabinet doesn't mean I don't know it's there. I will sit and stare at that cabinet the entire night until I get that juicy piece of conversation. Somebody at the dinner table thinks the president is a muslim socialist communist? Let's discuss! A friend of a friend at a party is wearing an eye patch? You're damn straight we're talking about what's underneath.

I understand that some people prefer avoiding topics that may be uncomfortable or that they, god forbid, might disagree on, so I've provided two topics that are guaranteed to please a crowd and ensure that nobody accidentally brings up that thing on Jason's new girlfriend's lip.

Everybody seems to love talking about these topics. I've seen people get very passionate about their choices, and yet remain respectful of everyone else's choice, a prerequisite for healthy conversation. Basically, at your next family gathering, these are much safer discussion topics than America's foreign policy or the moral superiority of atheism over monotheism.

Acceptable and beloved conversation topic #1:

If you could have any superpower, what would you choose?

See? Easy. Everyone loves, or at least knows, super heroes. We've all imagined ourselves as a super hero at some point. So this one taps into fond childhood memories and lets you run wild with your imagination in an inoffensive way, unless of course somebody chooses Ant-Man's power of punching his wife in the face (hope that's in the upcoming movie!). For some reason, every time I've had this conversation, the only powers people bring up are flying and invisibility. It's like they never heard of Wolverine.

Anyways, the correct answer is flying. Yeah being invisible and going to the Brazilian Women's Swimming team's locker room would be great, but you gotta look at the big picture. With the power of flight, you could just fly to Brazil, where they have nude beaches. No sexual harassment charge for you when the invisibility inevitably wears out.

So flight is the answer. Hands down, no argument.

Shit. This was supposed to spark conversation. Oh well, on to the next one...


Acceptable and beloved conversation topic #2:

If you had to give up one sense (seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling) which would you choose?

Everybody has thought about this one. If you are fortunate enough to have all five senses, it's fun imagining the world without one of them.

Wait, why is that fun? Sounds kind of fucked up, to be honest.

But let's go with it. Seriously, though, this is better than talking about world affairs or religion? Ok.

To begin, let's look at all five senses.

Ok, so after a little research, I learned there are a lot more than five senses, and I'm not just talking about Haley Joel Osment. There's our sense of time, balance, relativity, and many more! For the sake of this post, let's just focus on the ones our middle school teachers thought we could handle, which in turn narrowed our perception of ourselves and the world around us, but I digress...

Smell. This seems like it might be the easiest to cut out. No more b.o.! No more nasty farts! Awesome! But at the same time, no more farts? Who would want to live in a world where you can't even smell your own fart and fully enjoy the havoc your anus wreaked on other people's nasal passages? And you'll never be able to tell if you stink, so dating would be interesting. No more smell of bacon. I don't even eat bacon any more and I still think the smell of bacon cooking is one of the greatest sensual pleasures a man can experience. And don't forget, if you choose to give up your sense of smell, your sense of taste is fucked because taste and smell are intimately connected (hold your nose while eating to see this effect in action!). Plus, no more sniffing out the gas in the kitchen from the broken stove and now your house just exploded. Good choice, hot shot.

Taste. This may not be the most important sense, but it's one that makes life worth living. Without the sense of taste, you might as well eat rice cakes and celery for the rest of your life. No juicy, greasy fried chicken. No nacho cheese melting in your mouth, hitting every taste bud down your throat. No Reese's peanut butter cups.

No thank you.

Touch. Same as above re: "makes life worth living." Case in point: try imagining sex without the sense of touch.

Yeah. No. Next.

Sight/Hearing. These are the big two. As with the first topic, humans can only handle binary decisions, so this conversation inevitably winds up being about which is worse, loss of sight or loss of hearing.

Sight is our dominant sense ("I'll believe it when I see it") and it's hard to imagine not being able to see a sunset or a beautiful woman or tv. But envisioning (see, vision is the dominant sense even in our language. Look, I did it again with "see," and yet again just now with "look") a world with no music is almost impossible to me. No "Beethoven's 5th" or ODB's "Return to the 36 Chambers".

I would think being deaf is incredibly isolating; you can never be comforted by the sound of a friend's voice. You'd be excluded from the conversation by default. When I close my eyes, I can still sense what's happening around me, but when you plug up your ears you lose your sense of surroundings, and your sense of balance is all off.

At least with blindness you could get a dog, even though you could never see how it nuzzles its ridiculously cute snout into the blankets to keep warm at night or the hilarious way the folds of skin in its face flap in the breeze when it runs.

In order to properly answer this question, you really have to put yourself in the shoes of somebody less fortunate. What would it really be like if you didn't have one of your main senses? And what would it be like if you didn't have that sense all your life and one day you finally got it?

Funny you should ask! Here's a girl hearing her voice for the first time in her 29 years of life:

Wow. That was powerful. I'm gonna need a second. What? No, I'm not crying, it's just. I just...shut up. Who the hell wanted to talk about this stuff anyway?

Oh.

Sorry. I told you I'm not really good at small talk.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.