Loser's Guide to Life
I found some rants that once again invoked a vague sense of nostalgia, and I wasn't quite sure why. Here is a lightly-edited compilation:
I hope that anyone reading this deeply misinformed rant of yours will have the good sense to ignore it, and you, and focus on what matters—consuming geat quantities of beer and fish and chips on a winter evening.
I pity you, in a way—you folks who think you can trade off attention paid to things that are fun, cool, or easy, against the boring, icky, square stuff like good grammar, pesonal hygiene, regular attendance, correctness...
I tried to think where the nostalgia came from. Where have I heard that before? What was the long-forgotten place with which these temperamental outbursts resonated? What else did they call up? Office supplies...the pine scent of a pencil sharpener. The nowhere hour, around 2:45, when it seems you're stuck there forever, hearing either incontinent bawling, the noise of a mob, or tense, enforced quiet. Ah, school days! Every so often one teacher or another would let loose, reviewing all our faults in the form of a middle-age tantrum. After a few minutes it stopped being about us. You began to detect a general attack on life and the feeling of deception in one who had resized his dreams, drastically compromised them, only to see them still fail to show.
There were two ways of looking at this: on the one hand it was unpleasant, but on the other it was a break of sorts, and interesting. Funny, too, if you were in the mood. And it sure beat getting called into the office for a chat. I think I learned more important things from those rants than I did from any other school lesson.