God hates a whiner: Passionately pursuing pretty, polysyllabic professors

I hesitate to select a professor whose last name consists of two syllables. You know who had a two syllable last name? Hitler. But that’s just me. And this is a problem because it is coming to that time again when I must plan my schedule, and there are copious amounts of professors with two syllables in their last names. So, because I must accept that I may have to choose a professor with a two-syllable last name, I have to put on my detective costume, which consists of only a trench coat and fedora (and I do mean only), and really research what professor is best for me.

Other than my ‘two syllable’ rule, I rely on police-like interrogations of my peers with questions like, ‘Do I have to do the reading?’ ‘What’s the least amount I can do to look like I have done my best?’ ‘Do I have to go to class?’ ’10 a.m.? You have to be joking’ and ‘No, seriously, do I have to go to class?’ Sometimes it can get rough with me throwing my friend into a chair, a light shining in his eyes, while I scream, ‘I want the truth! Will this guy drop the lowest grade, or not?’

Basically these questions boil down to two main ideas: what professor will give me the best chance of minimizing difficulty while maximizing GPA and sleep. Picture this theory on a coordinate plane on an X and Y axis. Picture it, picture it, good. If you pictured a little puppy like I did, we should get together and talk.

I have to beware of what my friends say though. Some of them have different tastes. For example, once someone says, ‘Oh yeah, the class was amazing even though the professor was a really hard grader,’ I instantly let my brain shut down so I don’t listen to anymore of my friend’s propaganda. For me to be happy, I have to be doing well. I don’t care if my professor can give me the secret of life; if I can’t get at least an A- then I will have to pass. Besides, everyone knows the secret of life is finding the right pair of blue jeans that won’t be too uncomfortable after they come out of the dryer.

I have found that friends’ opinions are also flawed because they don’t like to admit when they have taken a horrible class. They have too much pride to let on that they have just wasted a semester going through hell. I can relate. It’s like when I bought rap CDs in 9th grade to be cool. I hated rap, but I had bought so many CDs that I acted like I loved it. Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems! Good God.

Because of my friends’ faults, I now go online to find the right professor. People are always honest online. There is something about the internet that makes people feel okay to go into chat rooms and act like they are a different sex. Anyway, Boston University has this thing on the Student Link called ‘The Source Guide,’ which, though it rates about 2 percent of all the professors at BU, it rates them nonetheless. Some students choose to mask their criticisms with tactful use of the English language, like this one commenting on his math teacher: ‘The professor was kind as far as concern for the students; however, I don’t feel he explained things very well.’ Translated into real English, this means, ‘Worst class ever.’

Some students choose to be brutally honest, like this one: ‘The professor shouts too much, always seems angry and discusses his prostate exams, bowel movements and other such nonsense instead of letting us go. Tell stories sure, but not about your colon!’ Oh well, rectum damn near killed ’em.

I have also found a source of information in RateMyProfessor.com. What is interesting about this evaluation system is that while students comment on the effectiveness of a professor, one can also comment on whether a professor is ‘hot’ or not. If a professor is hot, a hot tamale will appear next to his or her name. That’s pretty clever.

Ladies and gentleman, the following BU professors are hotter than Richard Pryor: Zvi Ben-Dor, Susan Blau, Zayd Dohrn and Glenda Quinonez. Those were just a few, but I’ll tell you, if I go into a class thinking that my teacher is going to be a hottie, the professor had better be tamale worthy. Halle Berry = tamale. Barry White = raw onion I am forced to eat like an apple.

This whole process can be pretty intense, but can you blame my tenacity? A bad professor is like getting a cavity filled without any Novocaine. A good professor numbs me up so good that drool flows endlessly from my mouth without my knowledge.

Oh, wait, this class looks like a winner: the professor is steaming hot, isn’t a morning person, has a rating of 4.7 out of 5, one student has called her ‘a diamond in the rough that is academia,’ and she drops any grade under a 90 percent. Her name: Professor Jane Hitler.