Requiem for Star Dude

You know what really cheeses me off? When you're reading something, usually a newspaper or magazine article, and the writer uses phrases like "call it..." or "file under..." Not only does it sound trite, but it's telling you what to do. Who do these people think they are? If I'm reading a story about a cat that tore up a room full of furniture, I am not going to call it a "CAT-astrophe." It's not going to happen. Nor will I file it under "bad kitty." I'm just not that organized.

I guess they're trying to be...ugh...cute. But really all they're doing is ordering people to go along with their puns and lame jokes. Forget bad writing, that's just rude. File under: Learn to write.

On the subject of bad writing, I've seen some of the worst imaginable at Nick's house. Hedie teaches fifth and eighth grade English, and she's usually correcting papers when I'm at the house. She showed me one paper called "Star Dude."

The assignment was to write a one page paper about Halloween. This kid filled a page and a half, but only because he put one or two words on each line. I wish I could remember how it went, all I can remember is it started off about someone named Star Dude who came from space, most of the words were spelled wrong, and it had nothing to do with Halloween. Oh yeah, and it didn't end. It just...stopped. We never find out what happened to Star Dude. Does he finally find love? Does he become a real boy? Does he ever do whatever the hell it is that the story was even about? We'll never know. Poor Star Dude. We hardly knew ye.

That's not to say that there are no future poet laureates in the class. Last week, she confiscated a note containing the following ballad:

Baby Girl,
I love you.
Are you wearing a thong?

Classy.