My Name is Chadsworth, I Am an Elitist

As I noted below, an intervention was staged by Marvelle and Dean Bumble. I was at the tennis club just getting a rub down when they appeared and said, "Put on your clothes and bring whatever medications you need." I had no idea what was up. I have had ups and downs with Marvelle and Dean Bumble but I thought they meant we were just going for drinks.

Wow was I wrong! After about an hour drive we arrived at GreyStern: Visas for Better Vistas. They referred it as a "treatment facility." Another name might be a deprograming center or even a prison.

My clothes were taken -- all cotton, wool and silk -- and replaced by tagless overalls and a polyester t-shirt. I resisted but you may recall that Marvelle is in possession of certain photographs that could be a problem. So I went along.

By 6 PM I was fully checked in and went to dinner with the other "guests." Dinner was cafeteria style and afterward you scrubbed your own plate. The came the first meeting.

Back and a Better Person

If you have followed any of this you know I am a privileged law professor living and teaching in Iveyville. Over the last year or so I have made a case for privileged people like myself to take back their birthright. We went to Harvard and Yale because we are smarter, better bred and most of the time more attractive than, well, virtually anyone else.

I have had some problems. I was saddled with showing Senator Faceworth around campus. He turned out to be a terrible womanizer with an insatiable demand for young Jennefirs. The results were disasterous when his Monkey Business was revealed.

My wife of my best friend accused me of making improper advances against her even though I thought it was the other way around.

As revenge, Marvelle (that was her name and I am not kidding) took some embarrassing photos of me -- maybe shopping at Old Navy or something like that -- and blackmailed me. I was required to shop at WalMart on a Friday night and attend a Hank Williams Jr. concert. I suppose my reaction to these horrors was insufficient and Marvelle and the Dean at my Law School, Dean Bumble staged an intervention and for the past two months I have been in an elitist deprograming center.

Getting Back from Hank

It's been awhile but I can explain. My Hank Williams "concert" is now over a week ago. Another of Marvelle and Dean Bumble's efforts to humiliate me over a silly disagreement which you will only understand by going back over a year of these posts. Let's just say they will NOT break me.

As instructed I arrived at the concert in my most dapper yet conservative tweeds. Needless to say I was over dressed. The general wear of those attending was jeans and checked shirt with sleeves sissored off. Quite fetching. Just kidding because all the males there, at least those over 25, were sporting large guts. I think they must be using implants. Some enterprising plastic surgeon slides some enormous saline or silicon breasts in the stomach. And the jeans are made to button or fasten just under the gut. Something like a gut bra. Lots of cowboy hats and boots. There was a pervasive odor of bacon. It was thick like the smoke in a European bar. My clothes, even my hair, were of no use to me unless I too wanted to smell like bacon. And it was not just ordinary bacon. I am pretty confident it was breaded and deep fried bacon. Had to be! My tardiness in getting back to you is a result of undergoing a medical procedure to degrease by hair and skin.

Hair -- you do not want to know. How can there be enough bad hair stylists to account for so many bad hair styles. Mixed with the bacon was the smell of hair spray. I am talking fat hair too.
I retched within 15 minutes but it was fine because all of the bathroom stalls were occupied by fellow retchers. Their retching choice was beer. I was dizzy from the bacon/hair spray cocktail.

Butts. Did I mention the butts. I think it must be an attractive feature to Hank's fans because very clearly when someone was possessed of a large butt, the goal was to display it in the tightest possible jeans. I am talking about the women here. The men tended to not to have butts at all. In fact, I suspect there was a great deal of butt implants in the building.

Fights. Lots of fights.

And right in the middle of it-- Dean Bumble and Mrs. Dean Bumble suitably attired for the evening and squealing along with every song.

Back From Rehab

Sorry I missed you. After the WalMart experience I became lost. I could not seem to remember things. I was unable to repond to the many invitations to give lectures or to the many job offers from other schools that I know must have come in.

It's the Marvelle thing. She sent me to Walmart with orders to spend $200 on items that cost no more than $2.00 each AND this had to be on Friday night after 9:00PM. I have never seen such a display of flesh and ill advised hair styles.

That explains my 6 week funk. But I felt better today. I had a nice massage and then tennis with Hugo Valencia and that devilish Marvelle. It was after tennis that things became less pleasant. A note from Marvelle:

"Attend the Hank Williams Jr, concert tomorrow night. Wear your finest suit, tie and tasseled loafers. Do this or the photo will go to Caroline and the entire law school faculty."

I do not know Mr. Williams. Never heard of him. The concert is Saturday next.

Dean Bumble is behind this and that is so unfair. After all I am an Ivy League man and deserving of respect. Plus, I took care of Senator Faceworth and his unquenchable thirst for Jennifers.

The Pervasive Odor

It has been almost a week and the popcorn/hot dog disinfectant oder stays with me. WalMart should bottle it. Only at Walgreens have I noticed such a pervasive, penetrating, and gag inducing odor.

Marvelle knew what she was up to. Is this my plight?! I have always done the right thing. I planned the Summer in Italy program that does not require students to go to the trouble of being in Italy. I escorted Sentator Faceworth and did not say a word about his needs for a steady supply of duel Jennifers. I apoligized to Marvelle although it was her, completely understandable, obsession with me that led to this unhappy situation.

I worry about her next order.

IN REHAB

That is where I need to be. I followed Marvelle's instructions and spend $200 at Walmart on a Friday night. I came home and showered for an hour. What an experience.

The stench when I walked in -- popcorn and hotdogs. The people. My God, It was like a fat convention. What is it about the American lower classes? It must be from eating way too much corn bread or whatever it is that those people eat.

The clothes. I did not know jeans came in double wide butt sizes. Really!! for an Ivy Leager like me it was a shock to the senses. These people have no sense of style. The hair! Tight perms on the older ladies and slut-styles on the younger ones. Mullets galore -- even on some women.

The children. Can every kid under 10 have a runny nose? Where is my Purell? I need several gallons. Actually, I quicky went to the garden section and acquired some gloves before handling any of the products.

The skin ! The dental work? Not that I saw a sign of any.

I mean I give money to all kinds of "liberal" causes but that is just to make sure I actually do not have to mix with these kinds of people.

Marvelle, I did nothing to you. Why are you doing this to me?

I had to cancel class this week to deal with a possible migraine.

Ghost Articles and a Message From Marvelle

Dean Bumble, who I thought was my friend, would be, if he were part of a test, the answer "none of the above." He wants a list of my recent publications. I listed my most recent ghost article which was coauthored by Hugo Valencia, supreme president of University Foreign Programs, (the ideas were mainly mine) and Bumble says it is not an article. "If it cannot be downloaded and then the downloads added up, it's useless." I may file a grievance but hopefully he will come to his senses.

Marvelle's first note came today and I quote:

On Friday night of the 15th you are to go to WalMart. There you are to purchase $200 worth of items. You may choose any items but no one item must have a price in excess o f $2.00. You may not select duplicate items. If you fail to do this, the photos will be sent to Caroline an posted on the web. Chadsworth, you are an insufferable a**hole. You take the items the following morning to the GoodWill store and leave them there.

Love M

Mezzo Notte e due

Yes, two days since my redevous with Marvelle at the bell tower. Do I know where I have been since then? No. Do I want to go back? Maybe.

I told Caroline I had to back to my office to get something around 11:30 on Thursday. At midnight I drove to the bell tower dodging the College police who would delight in interrogating an Ivy League man such as me.

Marvelle was in the shadows. It has been a year since the unfortunate Valentine's day when she presented me with an actual heart as a rebuff to what she thought were my inappropriate advances but which were my effort to be kind in discouraging her from from obsessing about me which, upon reflection, I realize she was not doing at all. It's a long story and I am not in shape to retell it here but it is all on this blog.

When I could see her face I could see that she was with Dean Bumble. Her first words, "Chadsworth, you are a pig. First you attack me then you are pimp to Senator Faceworth. You run a bogus foreign studies program. Finally, you will do something useful."

Well, being an Ivy League graduate, I had never heard this type of thing. I started to play the "that is inappropiate" card but somehow it just did not seem . . . . . well, appropiate.

It was about then that I saw that Dean Bumble had a taser pointed right at my most sensitive region. It was only a split second later there was a shocking and burning feeling is the same region. I know I folded over and I faintly recall being dragged to a car and then a pinching sensation in my arm

I am writing this from home now. I woke up here. I recall what I have described and then I recall great pleasure but it is vague. When I first opened my eyes, Caroline was there. Here only words, "Do not talk. I do not want to know." I realized that the raw feeling on the top of my right hand was a newly applied tattoo -- a pomeranian in three colors.

My shirt was hung over the chair near my bed and, in it, a folded note: "Chadsworth, we have photos, many photos that you may not want to be revealed. In the next few months, we will provide instructions. Follow them and the photos are yours. Do not and there will be consequences." M and Dean B.

Ghost Articles

Ghost article represents the combination of two ideas presented to me by similarly privileged and, therefore, productive (although not Marvelle-proof) colleagues.

Idea 1. It's that time of year when the dean creates a glossy brochure listing everyone's publications. You realize that a few months ago you were in a discussion with someone and an audience was there. It was taped and you had your secretary type it up. Presto! an article for your resume.

Idea 2. You read a draft of a colleague's article, made some suggestions and so on. You are a ghost coauthor and rightfully could claim this on your resume.So, the other day Hugo, Supreme President of Foreign, Internationl and Interstellar Programs, and I were having some drinks and playing a bit of tennis and I realized we are have a perfectly marvelous discussion about the best spots in Europe to have summer programs. It was in depth.

All we needed was someone to write it down.Think about it. Does the fact that no one was there to write it down really change the substance of our scholarship? In effect, we had coauthored a ghostarticle, worthy of listing on our overflowing resumes and to be including in the annual decanal glossy.Thus. the birth of the new journal Ghostarticles.Volume 1 contains the first article by Hugo and myself since the journal's birth. And what a journal. No pesky reading, no cumbersome downloads, no snotty law review editors. No, right from your mouth to your resume!!!

C. Osborne and H. Valencia, "International Legal Education," 1 Ghostarticle 1 (2008).

Mezzo Notte and Marvelle

Hugo, Supreme President of Foreign Programs, at my University is married to a lovely if somewhat skittish lady, Marvelle. They own Pomeranians.

If you have read along you know that at one time Marvelle -- how can I say this -- found me quite irresistible. And for good reason. I am, after all, an Ivy League man. What that means is that women with good taste have their heads turned. Marvelle is over endowed with good taste and about a year ago it was clear to me that I had to let her know that I am spoken for by my cherished Caroline.

So, we had lunch and I told her that I understood the effect I had on her and that she must get over me. She handled it quite well and pretended not to know what I was talking about. In fact, she left from the restaurant somewhat hurriedly. Some misunderstandings ensued including and awkward Valentine's exchange. This was about the time Dean Bumble was having me serve as host to the ill-fated Senator (no Monkey Business) Faceworth. But enough of that that. It can all be reviewed by linking to the posts of February and March of last year.

I write now only to report that I have received, in what is most certainly Marvelle's distinctive handwriting, a note: 30 January, mezzo notte, the bell tower.

Oh, Pleeeeeze

If there is one thing that could not be clearer it is that people like us should not be burdened with writing exams or grading them. It is like asking a brain surgeon to repair a hang nail. It is for that reason that I use machine graded multiple choice exams. I try hard to keep the questions secret so they can be used each year but, if they leak out, it is not my problem.

I am way to busy doing research, planning summer programs and trips, playing tennis and getting massages to be concerned about some ill-prepared annoying students droning on about an issue he barely understands. I used to give essay questions. OK, more accurately, I almost gave them once which is effectively the same thing. Then I thought, "What will I learn from reading these?" Answer: Nothing. Then "How will this benefit me at all?" Answer: Not at all.

I have tried to talk some sense to professor of my ilk -- well-bred, well-trained -- but some still resist. Oh sure, sometimes there are complaints about my exams being recycled and machine graded but it is generally from students who are stubborn about not realizing what a gift it is to have me as a professor at all.

Dean Bumble has said nothing about it and for good reason. His philosophy of deaning seems to be based on multiple choice with the answer usually being "none of the above."

I Love the Students

No, I do not mean intimately. Well, there was one but that was before I married Caroline and it was when dating students was actually part of good teaching. In any case, those of us with proper breeding know how to handle such matters with discretion.

Now I did have the one student who claimed that she only got an A because of our intimacy and petitioned for the grade change to a B when our "intimacy" ended. The grading committee met and agreed that she had earned and A. I thought she probably did. I had not actually graded her exam but I know her father had attended Yale. So grading the test was waste of time.

But enough of that. Now several students from last summer's Italy program have complained about their grades. Can you imagine! Hugo and I arrange an international program that requires us to do all the international travel while mailing postcards to the students who can stay home and enjoy their studies while camped out on the beach or in their own snug rooms, and this is the thanks we get. It seems that several of them compared their answers on the multiple choice exam and found that they received different final grades even though they had the same answers. So what? It's not like anyone actually got below a B. Some got A's and some got B's and we played no favorites. I have told them that I do not regrade exams. And, it is true that this time I did not actually read them but I did assign grades based on my best professional judgment. I gave A's to those who had attended Ivy League schools as undergraduates and B's to those who did not. They act like academic freedom is a foreign concept.

I feel I migraine coming on.

All Hail Dean Bumble

I have in the past been less than complimentary of Dean Bumble. The incidents decribed previously with respect to Senator Faceworth and the various problems pertaining to the Summer in Italy program left me wondering about Dean B. Now he has come through. This year he has hired new faculty exclusively from the elite universities in America. Finally, a group of new faculty who can relate to the common plight of those us who must mingle with the common people. Those people have no idea what it is like to hire a good household staff these days. They cannot relate to the stress of trying to make sure your summer place on the Vineyard is poperly maintained.

Thankfully, the only candidates interviewed this year were well bred people of standing. It is such a danger to allow faculty so see a candidatle without proper credentials. That happened a couple of years ago and the people hired. . . wel l, they had no sense of entitlement at all.

I must concede that there is one tiny dark cloud. Dean B did indicate very gently that he would like to see me back in the classroom. For those of you who have been following this exercise, I have not actually been in front of a class for a year and have two more years of no classroom activity to come. Last year, between migraine headaches that I could have had and my obligations with Senator Faceworth and his nightly travels with the Jennifers, I just could not teach. And then there was preparation of the Summer in Europe program. During that time I felt that it was important for me to take further time off from teaching to "come down" from the stress.

Oh, one more teeny tiny dark speck. I got this letter yestesday of myself and Senator Faceworth and a couple Jennifers. The suggestion was of some kind of impropriety. A note said "you will hear from me."

Lucky Jim

I have just read the most disgusting little book: Lucky Jim by Kingley Amis. It's supposed to be the view of a non elite of the rest of us. As you would expect, the little twerp fails in the end. Where to these authors like David Lodge and Kingsley Amis get off making fun of those of us who put the "education" into higher education.

At least I have the satistaction faction of living the life that others can only hope for. It's off to Italy this summer. So far 12 students have signed up for our virtual law school in Italy summer program. I am not actually teaching this semester to next because of last year when I was sick but did not take time off.

In the meantime, there is floating around some internet garbage suggesting that faculty from elite schools are no more productive that those from non elite schools. Do yourself a favor and ignore it.

And finally, there is the story that some of my most esteemed elite colleagues are crooked because they will say anything to make money as consultants or expert witnesses. Again, ignore it.

Reason for Hope

What good news! My law school hiring committee has finally seen the light and the first candidate invited to campus is one of the finest possible -- a Princeton/Harvard grad. Someone for me to talk to. Someone who will understand what it like to be deserving and not having it recognized.

I see that Harrison over at Classbias has starting his usual rant. He is offended that people list "to be written" items as "major publications." He does not understand that even things yet to be written; indeed, yet to even be thought of are major publications when the product of an elite mind and education.