The end of another semester has finally arrived. My blood pressure is gradually returning to its normal state. I no longer need a scoop of NO Shotgun dumped dryly in mouth, only to be gurgled in the shower with scalding tap water to aid in my morning cram session. Now that there is no need to memorize the process of cell division or the intricacies of Kleinfelter Syndrome, I am once again able to obtain the erections that come with being twenty years old, body still in the reconstruction process from the hormonal ravages of puberty, my brain no longer clouded with the images of ambiguous genitalia or the paralyzed cilia of smoker’s lung from my textbook. Life is returning to me and I can feel it. Food tastes fresher. I’m no longer a victim of stress induced weight loss, and best of all, my bowel movements are so predictable that you could set the clock with them. My last final exam was today, and I must say that I felt exhilarated, for a few seconds. That was followed by a moment of brief and intense exhaustion. It was like my body and my brain finally had an epiphany and realized that it was all over. They didn’t need to hold up the facade anymore, the mask of dedication and effort. It was simply time to relax. If only that were the case.
I am not sure about whether or not I have mentioned this before, but my tuition is expensive. The last thing I need while in college is another expense. Of course though, that is just not a feasible request. At the beginning of this semester, I spent about $400 at the campus bookstore. It would have been closer to $650 if I hadn’t ordered a few of the books online. Anyway, the end of the semester always means the chance to sell back your books, for half of the original price. Lets do the math.
I paid close to $400 for about ten books, six of which were all for my ethics class, written by philosophers who tended to use a lot of circular rhetoric that never really went anywhere without first branching off into a couple hundred tangents all with their own back story and book jacket; in modern times referred to as stoner talk. So, out of these ten books, they bought back eight. Keep track of these numbers. Eight books! WOW! That’s got to be close to $200 back in my pocket. No. I came away from that bookstore with $18. They bought back every single one of those philosophy books, for an average of $0.75 a piece. That’s probably about the same amount of money someone would pay for me to smoke a blunt with the girth of a baseball bat and then lecture for an hour on the meaning of ambiguity and prudence. Here is where it gets really good.
The only two books I couldn’t return were my Spanish books. These were about $150 a piece. The reason for not buying back either of them: the professor had ordered a new edition. The worst part of it was that I ended dropping both of those Spanish classes. In fact, I missed the return deadline by one day at the beginning of the semester, so I was told to hold on to the book and sell it back at the end. They think they’re so clever. That’s another huge problem with book buybacks; professors are constantly writing unnecessary new editions. For instance, it was suggested that for this semester in Biology, we should buy the 5th edition of Human Biology: Concepts and Current Issues. This book was close to $200 at the book store. I bought the 4th edition on Amazon for $26, shipping included. Basically, professors need the money, so they throw in a few revisions here in there, change the word skinny to thin, flat to compressed, scrotum to gonads, and they’ve got a new edition ready to hit the printing press. People. Call me when someone finally figures out how to spice up a text. Instead of the professor writing in a stuffy and awkward jargon that he/she considers to be “easy-to-read” and “friendly”, how about shooting for all out raunchy. Why not just give in and make chapters on reproduction and digestion as hilarious and straightforward as we found them to be when we were in 6th grade health class giggling every time the professor said testicles or anus? Lets cut flatulence and move to farts. Penis? Screw it. I’m thinking either dong or cockmeat. Vagina? I think we can all agree on that special four letter word…Not really though. I know that word is going to be off limits for a long time to come. Still, what guy do you know that actually ejaculates sperm? Not literally of course. Bustin’ a nut just rolls right off the tongue, and it’s fun to say. Sure, it’s good for everyone to know about the scientific process of it all; I couldn’t agree more with that. But if we’re going to pay so much for it, then the text could include a little more zest and modernity. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love knowing that the sperm fertilizes the egg to create a zygote that will need a great deal of cytoplasm and nourishment to stay alive. That doesn’t mean you can’t also call it planting the seed or making a baby that will lead to kankles and midnight Dairy Queen cravings for mommy. I’m not talking about full-on erotica in college biology textbooks, just a quick translation.
Who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so ripped off about having to keep my Spanish books if there were a few authentic recipes or tequila recommendation at the end of each chapter. At least then it would still be relevant.
