An Education in Muffin Tops

In April of 1017 we were on a car trip and passing through a trendy city looking for some morning chow. I saw a sign for muffin tops at a breakfast place. At the time I thought the term muffin top was an euphemism for fat bulging over one's belt.

"Why would anyone refer to a muffin top at a restaurant?" I thought.

We pulled in to investigate. What we discovered was that some clever entrepreneur came up with the idea that people shouldn't have to soldier through the bottom of a muffin to gain access to the more desirable cap. Science and technology has allowed us to just purchase the muffin top and get on with it, straight away. I asked a young guy behind the counter, named "Chet," how they made just muffin tops,

"We cut the bottoms off and throw them away," Chet replied.

Apparently, I pay just as much for a full muffin as I do for a muffin top except Chet tosses half my muffin into the landfill instead. Thank you, Chet!

We all selected our muffin tops and sat down for a family discussion on the ethics of muffin marketing. Our oldest, Aidan, offered,

"It's like All Stuf Oreos."

"What's that?" I inquired.

All Stuf Oreos are for busy, important people who are constantly on the go. You know, discriminating, power users who reject the cookie all together and go straight for the "creme."

"Is there All Double Stuf?" I asked.

"Not yet," Aidan answered, "But that's a good idea."

"I read some people eat frosting straight from the can," my wife, Christine offered.

"It's just wrong that in the wealthiest country some people can't afford cake," I declared.

"They can afford cake. They just prefer the frosting," Christine explained.

I was puzzled.

Christine has a friend who has the annoying habit of eating just the cheese whenever we share a pizza. She strips a slice naked, scoffing up the cheese and a little bit of sauce, leaving the naked bread behind. Watching this unfold annoys me to the point where it has become questionable who is more nuts. The problem I have with all this is that you aren't eating pizza if you're eating just the cheese. You're eating cheese. The crappy cookie that sandwiches the stuff is what an Oreo is. If you forgo the wafer, you're not eating an Oreo cookie. You're eating frosting which is not cake just as the top of the muffin is not a muffin.

Marketing to narcissists may seem harmless; after all, you're giving people just what they want, but there's a downside. Today, kids freely admit that they don't want to work hard in college. That's why more and more kids are avoiding STEM classes in favor of easier courses of study. Many colleges are creating programs for students who want to avoid math. Worthless degrees have always been offered by higher educational institutions, but now that there is a greater demand for higher education there seems like there has been an explosion of bullshit majors.

When I toiled away at degrees in engineering and computer science, I was required to take courses in the humanities, but fine arts students weren't required to take calculus. Today you can major in Exercise Science which sounds like STEM, but you won't have to take any actual science courses. Library Science is a degree in which the Dewey Decimal System substitutes for linear algebra. By the time you get your diploma, there won't be any libraries anymore. It's like getting a degree in Morse Code.

Worse yet a recent online poll revealed that 87% of college students skip class with the most popular reason being to spend time with their friends. With the astronomical cost of college tuition today, it's dumbfounding that any student would opt out of attendance for any reason other than uncontrollable bleeding. Advertisements for online schools show students in their pajamas "doing it their way." The problem is signing up for a four year degree in an easy major that can't help you get a job is not getting an education.

Apathy is not just affecting college students either. The trades have their share as well. I hired a father and his son to do some work on my house. On the first day, the son didn't show up. His father explained that his boy graduated from high school and was out all night partying. I thought,

"On his first day of work in the real world, he called in sick."

When you're too blotto from the pervious night's drinking, you're not sick. You're hungover.

It's okay if the muffin top appeals to your hedonistic side, just keep in mind that anything worthwhile comes about from hard work, and you can't do it drunk or in your pajamas.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on April 27, 2017. All Stuf Oreos was an April Fool's prank pulled off by Adam Padilla.

The Education Bubble

For some time now, I've been engaged in an informal survey of college majors. Whenever I cross paths with a person speaking about upcoming college plans, I always ask them what their major is. Although I've talked with many people, only one was majoring in STEM. He was a recent high school graduate who was spending the summer waiting tables to earn some money before embarking on a four degree in Chemistry. My wife, Christine, congratulated the young man on his stellar choice of study, telling him that her company hires interns each summer in that field. In my day there was never an abundance of students majoring in science and math, but today it's as if there are none. What gives?

Instead of bashing millennials which my generation is fond of doing, I put the blame squarely on the vast number of colleges across the country which are all vying for the billions of dollars doled out by the Department of Education via Title IV of the Higher Education Act of 1965. Back when I was in school colleges got money too through government grants made directly to the institutions, and financial aid and Pell Grants issued to the students. The fed gave out money to schools with the caveat that the institutions had to ensure that their dropout rate was kept to a minimum. Back then legislators didn't want young people to become encumbered by a debt for an education they didn't complete. Colleges sought talented students who had the tenacity to get through a four year degree. The carrot and stick policy ensured that federal money gave each party something of value. That was 35 years ago when about 20% of the population earned a college degree.

Today federal money is disseminated to academic institutions primarily through financial aid. Colleges are allowed to have as much as 90% of their profits come from federal sources. Initially the restriction on funding from federal sources was much lower. Lobbyists for educational institutions managed to get the limit raised over the years. Federal law requires institutions to provide a quality education, but drop out rate is no longer used as a metric impacting funds. Unconcerned if a student actually graduates, educational institutions now lure in high schoolers with simplified programs which give them little chance of landing a job.

In my informal survey many students told me that they were seeking degrees in anthropology, communications, theology and exercise science. Worse yet there are fields of study which are mostly activities turned into college degrees as in animal rescue, turf and golf course landscape maintenance, puppetry, equine care, fermentation science, bowling industry technology, packaging, poultry science, piano pedagogy and floral auctioneering. One kid was majoring in Canadian Studies. What's to learn about Canada other than their chief exports are Canadian money and Justin Bieber? Another told me that a college counselor asked him what he enjoyed doing. He answered,

"I like to wash my car."

So he's getting a business degree with an emphasis on car detailing. There's always been degrees that are worthless, but back in my day a liberal arts degree would land you a good paying full time job with benefits managing a department store. Today those jobs are mostly part time and filled from the floor. A degree in Communications, often sited as one of the worst college majors, is what you get if you tell your guidance counselor that you hate math. The problem is you can't succeed in this world by avoiding math. Additionally, many institutions let students "make your own major," a policy which vastly expands enrollment while diluting the value of a college degree. Today 30% of the US population gets an undergraduate degree, up fifty percent.

When I was applying to colleges in the early 80's, the brochures for the schools mostly highlighted what the institutions were known for academically, any renown laureates on the faculty, and significant research conducted at the institution. Today high school graduates are recruited by colleges who send unsolicited brochures which espouse the wonderful "campus life" and the many amenities they offer including the views from the dorms and the extensive food programs. The advertisements read more like a country club rather than an academic institution.

During the 2016 presidential election, Bernie Sanders, the socialist senator from Vermont, espoused the idea of making two year community colleges free. Hillary Clinton chimed in and said that all community colleges should offer free tuition paid through increased taxes on the rich. More recently Cardi B told Joe Biden that her fans mostly want a "free college education."

To which he responded,

"By the way, we're going to have, if I get elected president, free college education for four years of college, flat out."

The problem with government subsidies is that federal money drives costs up, not down. Biden's tuition free program applies only to families making less than $125,000 a year which includes undocumented students. Many kids transfer credits from community colleges as a more economical means of obtaining a degree. As federal money rolls in, the cost of college will soar. There is also no restriction on the majors a student can aspire to under the Biden program. As a taxpayer I don't want to indirectly fund some kid's anthropology degree unless I at least get a chance to impart on them parental wisdom at the proper decibel level. I usually start with "a worthless degree is still worthless even if it's free." 

When I was young, my juvenile head didn't need to tap out for me to understand that you can't do much with an easily obtainable degree, but the recruitment effort was vastly different. Today young people are courted by institutions of higher learning offering useless degrees in exchange for massive debt. The education bubble is not going to burst. It will slowly deflate as fewer students sign up for a worthless education offering a phony promise of success.

When it comes to this latest bubble, the education is in front of us not behind.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on August 3, 2017.

My Middle School Education

For most of my childhood, I was educated in a private school. As busing was being argued in legislative chambers across the country, I avoided having to board the cheese wagon for a lengthy ride to an integrated school. I wore a uniform which identified me as a member of a select group of lucky kids. I was overseen by men and women who were committed to my education. They were so dedicated that they never married. You probably think I was privileged. I would think that too until I tell you that the private school I went to was Catholic. Now you’re likely thinking,

“You poor bastard.”

Some of my classmates were into the whole religious thing. They could recite biblical versus, were altar servers, and knew all the seven sacraments. They used words like “ecumenical” and "liturgical" in meaningful sentences. Not only did they know who the Pope was, they could list them in order all the way back to Saint Peter. I, on the other hand, flunked religion. In a parochial school failing nonsecular instruction draws out the ire of the teaching staff. Back then Catholic schools were still taught mostly by nuns, unmarried, childless women who wore dark clothing. They were called by God to live a lonely, celibate life. Their focus was supposed to be their parish, not their husband nor their kids. That was the theory anyway. In practice, raising children causes you to be more introspective. Having kids enrolls you in an upper level course on patience. When you experience birth, it softens you. Before kids, you sympathize. After, you empathize.

For the first two years of my Catholic education, I didn't say a word in school. I was too scared. All the nuns were old, mean and French in that order. They each had odd things about them like Sister Ahmad, who taught third grade, always asking,

“What did Jesus said?”

None of us kids ever corrected her grammar because we were afraid of her. Sister Ahmad was a thousand years old. She had no qualms with corporal punishment, and we all entered third grade knowing it. Most of the nuns didn’t hit us, but a few were quite adept at sparing with defenseless children. In fact, the only time Sister Ahmad smiled was when she was exercising the devil out of some hapless kid. On the first day of school we lined up in the front of the class as Sister Ahmad read off our names then assigned us a desk. When my name was called, I walked forward. Sister Ahmad noticed that my tie was black with thin red stripes, not the solid dark blue required by the uniform code. She pointed to me and angrily asked,

"Why is your tie like that?"

I froze. Sister Ahmad continued badgering the witness,

"Why don't you have a tie like everyone else?"

I tried to speak, but I could see on her face that it wouldn't matter what I said. She leaned forward then yanked on my tie as she commanded,

"Get the right one!"

Sister Madeline was the fourth grade teacher. She was very tall. She had accidentally lopped off the end of her middle finger with a paper cutter. To punish kids that got out of line she would make them hold her foreshortened digit. She once told this story to us,

A poor boy was very sad. He had to weed a large field. He didn’t think he could do it. A little angel appeared before him and said,

“What’s wrong poor boy?”

“I have to weed this field, and I can’t do it,” the boy said.

The little angel told the boy to weed a small patch which he did because it was easy. When he finished, the little angel said,

“Now do this patch.”

The poor boy weeded it because it was easy too. The little angel had the boy weed patches after patch until the whole field was done.

What’s the moral to the story?

I raised my hand. Sister Madeline called on me,

“Bobby Languedoc thinks he has an answer.”

Now here is where good judgement and youth do not intersect. I said,

“Forget the moral to the story. This kid saw an angel?”

From the look on her face I thought her habit was going to burst into flame. I was lucky though. Instead of having to clutch her amputated stub of a finger, Sister Madeline resorted to her second go to punishment, rapping you on the head with the stump.

Sister Evangeline was the fifth grade teacher. For some reason, she was always spitting up phlegm even in the summer. If she made a math error on the board and one of us pointed it out, she would say,

“Thank you teacher.”

Sister Evangeline had no need for science so she skipped that subject in favor of extra tutelage in French. My father had a subscription to National Geographic from which I got all my science instruction in grade school. Once Sister Evangaline asked us,

“What causes the tides?”

I had just read an article about how gravitational attraction between the earth and moon resulted in two bulges of water in the ocean moving around the planet. My hand shot up. Sister Evangeline said,

“Bobby Languedoc thinks he has an answer.”

Confidently, I responded, “The moon causes the tides.”

Before I had a chance to elaborate, Sister Evangeline interrupted,

“God causes the tides, not the moon.”

I thought of Galileo when the Inquisition put him under house arrest for stating that the sun and not the earth was the center of the solar system.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the moon,” I issued.

“Who made the moon?” Sister Evangeline asked.

I hesitated as I tried to recall previous issues of National Geographic.

“God made the moon!” she shot back.

I got off easier than Galileo on that exchange. All I had to do is write “God made the moon” on the board a hundred times while my fellow students mocked me.

On another occasion, Sister Evangeline was seated at her desk in the front of the room when she reminded us that Jesus was born on Christmas Day in a manger because there was no room in the inn. I had read a newspaper article that stated that the actual day Jesus was born was likely not in the winter because shepherds didn't tend sheep then. The author suggested that December 25 was chosen as a day of christian celebration to compete with pagan festivities around the winter solstice on the 20th. Quoting the article I noted,

"The Gospel doesn't say anything about the season when Jesus was born."

Sister Evangeline glared at me at length, her face flush with anger. She wheezed audibly as she labored to breathe through ample pent-up loathing. Flinging open a drawer to her desk, she retrieved a green grade book which she flipped open. Snapping up a pencil, she licked the end then peered through her bifocals as she scratched something on the page. She closed the book abruptly then returned it to the drawer which she slammed shut. She paused briefly as she glanced in my direction then said,

"The three wise men brought gold, frankincense and myrrh."

To this day I don't know what Sister Evangeline wrote in that book, but I'm sure it wasn't a praising acknowledgement of my extensive understanding of historical events.

Sister Stellar was the sixth grade teacher. She was short and had a scar on her chin. A classmate of mine once mused that her scar was from a bullwhip accident while under instruction when she was living in the order. Sister Stellar hated when any of us looked to the back of the church during mass. She would point any infraction outright in the middle of the service by yelling,

“Bobby Languedoc is more interested in what’s going on in the BACK of the church.”

The priest conducting mass would frown after Sister Stellar's frequent outbursts which she took as approval, but I was pretty certain he didn’t appreciate the frequency of the disciplinary disruption which was more distracting than some kid glancing over their shoulder towards the choir. You can always tell the Catholics who were confirmed as adults. They’re the parishioners who look about the church during mass. I alway feel compelled to tell them,

“The miracle is happening up at the alter.”

But I never say anything.

Sister Betty Ann taught seventh grade. She was on loan from a parish in Kentucky. She was tasked to venture up here and straighten us yankees out. Every Wednesday morning the whole school went to mass. After each service, Sister Betty Ann sauntered to the front of the church and critiqued our participation by grade. She would call out the fourth grade for not singing loud enough or the sixth grade for not enunciating during the Lord’s Prayer. We were all inadequate sinners not worthy of our station. Once Sister Betty Ann played The Devil Went Down to Georgia for us then asked,

“What's the meaning of this song?”

I raised my hand. Sister Betty Ann said with a twang,

“Bobby Languedoc thinks he has an answer.”

“I don’t know what that song is about, but who taught the devil how to play the fiddle?”

“How would I know that?” Sister Betty Ann exclaimed.

"Wasn't it a sin for Johnny to gamble his soul for a golden fiddle?"

"Yes, it was."

“How come the devil admitted to Johnny that he was a better fiddle player? Doesn’t seem like the type.”

“I don’t know."

"What key did the devil play in?"

"It's just a song."

“What does ‘chicken in a bread pan picken` out dough’ mean?'”

“What?”

"Sister, why do we get presents on Christmas when it's Jesus's birthday?"

“Because, uh...”

"Sister, do you hear God's voice in your head?"

"Yes! I mean no..."

"If God knows everything, does he need to know how to read?"

"Huh?"

By the time I had reached seventh grade, my education was complete. Sure I had a lot to learn, but I no longer feared humiliation. My parents scraped up what little money they had to send three kids to Catholic school, and we heard about the sacrifices they made often. In 1976, my father went on strike from his factory job, and mid year he stopped paying the tuition. The school sent my parents a letter stating that if they didn't resume payment, I wouldn't be allowed to take finals and would have to repeat the sixth grade.

I wore the wrong tie all through middle school receiving admonition from many of the nuns for what they believed was my brazen rule breaking. The truth was my parents were often strapped for cash even in good times. My Catholic education taught me a lot. As my parents cobbled together what they had to get by on a limited budget, I learned to absorb aversion as I stood out from the crowd, not for academic achievement but for my inability to afford conformity.

What better lesson to survive in this world today.