Tag Archives: generation Y

Other people’s papers. Or, what’s in a college degree?

cheater cheater

cheater cheater

I did it in college. I might have done it in high school. And here we are –  nearly ten years later – and I’m still getting paid to write other people’s research papers.

2004: One of my senior-year college roommates offers me $50 cash to write her 10-page research paper on cleft palates. (She was an education major.) And while my parents were my only source of income at the time and their preferred method of payment involved my blue-and-yellow VisaBuxx card (the credit card you pre-load; Target market? Teens.), I didn’t do it for the money. I did it for the thrill.

It took me 24 hours. I stayed up. I took Adderall for the first and last time. I learned kind of a lot about cleft palates. I finished the paper, literally sick and tired, but found myself curled up in my Ikea bed around 10am after the all-nighter bloated with a strange pride. We gamed the system. We stuck it to the man. This is what it feels like to live!

My love affair with academic dishonesty flared up again this past week: Through a virtual-assistant web site, I started working for a girl – T – who needed some help with a short research paper for her business class. “Help” really meaning someone who would write the paper for her. I worked on it at work. At home. I became invested and engrossed. I emailed the final version to her with a little note: “I love doing this kind of work, so if you have more and would like to work outside the site, let me know!”

She took me up on the offer. It’s all a little mysterious, but from what I can gather, I now seem to be completing the course for her. And while I love the work and the set-up, it doesn’t mean I think it’s ok.

This is how I look at it semi-freakonomically. I think the argument against T and I’s arrangement is a) it’s dishonest, and 2) it isn’t good for the student. And what would we as a society do if a majority of our college graduates had actually employed a smaller minority of outside individuals to complete their collegiate work for them? Are the graduates fit to enter the workforce? It really begs the question – what does having a college degree in America today mean?

College can be just as much about learning to live with the institutions that govern our lives, figuring out how to maneuver around the red tape, as it can be about learning. For all I know, T is a hustler – she’s getting a degree to get ahead, not to apply the concept of marketing myopia to her employer’s mission statement. There’s an opportunity cost to doing her college coursework – what could she be doing instead? How do we know that that something is not more beneficial for her?

I do it because I miss the urgency. The high stakes. The deadlines. I’m lucky – at least in terms of collegiate work. I love learning, particularly through writing, putting pieces of a puzzle together and not having the luxury of over-thinking the whole thing. (It’s pretty rare that someone approaches you three weeks ahead of time with a paper to write.) I think I especially like the ability to put the work aside when I’m done. It’s the best way to get around the writer’s ultimate dilemma: that the success, or lack thereof, of something we produce says something about us fundamentally. This kind of work – it’s part of me, but not who I am.

At this point, I’m mostly worried that T will start spending money on me that she doesn’t have, the dependency issue. I’m also worried that maybe she does need to know some of this stuff. If I start getting indications that either is happening, I’ll have to take a second look at our arrangement.

For now, it’s one of those things in life that’s best approached as…it is what it is.

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Gen Y: Must Love Dogs, AND TRAVEL.

this shit sucks. but i love it.

this shit sucks. i clearly love it.

Travel – for business and pleasure – is kind of an unavoidable luxury these days. Part of the fabric of our culture, and certainly a favorite pastime for many a man with an online dating profile. It’s just not cool to admit you don’t like traveling. So…yeah! Of course I love it!

For me, it means a few months of pre-travel panic. Everything must be perfect – legs shaved, eyebrows plucked, pores extracted, hair highlighted and cut, teeth whitened, pounds lost. It’s anxiety. And when you’re away from home, it’s living in the moment, feeling the heartbeat of life and not having enough “familiar” around you to ignore what you’ve been repressing. Travel is a jolt, a way to shock yourself into looking at things as they really are. Scary.

But not liking travel doesn’t mean you don’t see the beauty in it.

My favorite part is getting home. Unpacking. cleaning. Ah, sweet routine. I thought I lost you!

But your eyes are new too. You can’t look at things quite the same way again.

A trip last year to Monaco to visit a dear friend actually turned out to be my saving grace. After a year at a job that I wasn’t sure I was a good fit for, it was an opportunity for me to realize – I can still function in groups! I haven’t lost the ability to laugh so hard it feels like a 9-year-old David Beckham kicked a soccer ball directly into my abdomen! While my daily routine at home was different from what it felt like it should have been, it didn’t mean I had lost who I was. I needed space – apparently a distance as wide as that between Los Angeles and Monte Carlo – to see it.

I do feel grateful I got to go on the cruise last week, but it’s a mindful struggle to remind myself I didn’t fail. It’s a struggle that apparently requires outside assistance: “Dad –  are you sure it wasn’t a failure? I mean, I didn’t have the right amount of fun! It didn’t meet my expectations!”

We are told we have to like to travel, that everyone wants to travel. That we should be grateful. Well, Jeneration Why, travel IS a revelation, but it’s also a crapshoot.  Maybe we don’t always have to go so far from home to cultivate a new perspective. Or to “fit in.”

Why? Some thoughts on Adam Lanza, Sandy Hook and vulnerability.

I’m struggling with what I want to write today. Why? Because what I want to say may be unpopular. Because someone might walk away thinking I’m insensitive. Because I don’t want this post to polarize or offend. Each of us has our own unique reaction to what happened yesterday in Newtown, Connecticut. This is mine.

I woke up today, and like many, wanted to see what updates were available on the Sandy Hook elementary school shooting. The first NY Times’ article I read was a portrait of the life of the deceased suspect Adam Lanza. The headline? “A Gunman Who Left Few Footprints in Life.”

Reading through his story broke my heart. The reporter, who seemingly couldn’t locate a single friend of Adam’s to interview, instead interviewed neighbors and former classmates. The article mentions that Adam might have suffered from Asperger’s, a high-functioning form of autism, in which the individual has trouble communicating and interacting socially. In the photo accompanying the article, Adam’s mouth is awkwardly open. And his eyes, wide and confused. And haunting. Most people would probably say vacant, but I want so much to believe there was some kind of life behind them.

As human beings, we have an innate, deep need to connect with people. Loneliness can be debilitating. Heartbreaking. Adam may have been a loner, but it sounds like he was also desperately lonely.

It makes me think of that book Bowling Alone – about the decline of the American “community” over the past generation or so. Having lived in LA for 12 years, I know I have struggled to find a sense of community. Modern Western society seems hardwired to promote the “individual”: Not only can we survive mostly on things we buy online, limiting social contact, for whatever reason it feels harder than ever for us to simply admit – I’m vulnerable. (If you haven’t and you’re interested, I would check out Brene Brown’s Ted talk on vulnerability.) Centuries ago, when society was more agrarian, lives centered around town halls and squares where people bartered and sold their wares and foodstuffs. If you wanted to eat, if you wanted a book, if you wanted anything, you had to leave home. It was a given that your life depended on the successful interactions you had with others.

I don’t want it to sound like I think I have answers. Mental illness. Gun control. Violent video games. I don’t know. I just know that in addition to the many young lives that were tragically taken yesterday, there was a 20-year-old boy who seems like he, too, might have been some kind of victim, so desperate to connect with others that he felt like he had to take drastic measures for anyone to see him in the first place.

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