Author Archives: The Untamed Shrew

About The Untamed Shrew

“That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.” ~William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew (I. i. 69)

Ms. Double Interrobang

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by The Untamed Shrew and Rampage Productions

That cliché about judging a book by its cover?

It’s wrong.

It takes me a paragraph.  This was made very apparent to me when, upon enrolling in an online graduate program, I was tasked with my first assignment – a one-paragraph introduction to my digital classmates posted on the class discussion board.  No problem, I thought, forgetting I was an English major.  Ten minutes later, I was the first one done – my paragraph a beacon of hope and proper grammar for all to see.  Apparently, it was so awesome it blinded all who read it, for it took nearly seven days for the other responses to trickle in.  And then, even once those other responses trickled in, they were not text that could be read so much as deciphered.  That said and from what I could glean, the menagerie that is my classmates consists of the following:

Ms. Double Interrobang

Named for her favorite form of punctuation – the “?!?!” – she strikes me as one of those individuals for whom replays are just as exciting as real life.  Were she to be, hypothetically speaking, reincarnated in the Hindu tradition, she’d probably come back as a breed of dog with “miniature” tacked in front of its name.  Based on her grammar, she is simultaneously confused and startled by a wide range of topics, including her city of origin, her employment, her morning commute, dogs, babies, and jogging.

Ms. Messy Divorce

Despite the fact I have never met her, nor ever intend to meet her, and sincerely hope not to meet her, I know that she is currently going through “a messy divorce.”  She’s a big fan of clichés, alternating back and forth between such bold, declarative statements as “gonna live life to its fullest” and railing about her husband who left her for an iguana or whatever.

Mr. Nice to “Meet” You

This fellow is sort of a modern day Invisible Man in the Ralph Ellison tradition.  I don’t know anything about him.  No one knows anything about him.  He stubbornly refuses to post anything about his own state of being, but each time someone else introduces themselves, he responds by posting, “Nice to ‘meet’ you,” presumably under the impression that adding quotation marks to the statement made on an online message board makes it ironic and/or funny.   To be fair, he is generating some humor, but it’s not the sort he intends given you have exchanges like this happening:

Ms. Messy Divorce: My husband left me for an iguana.

Mr. Nice to “Meet” You: It’s nice to “meet” you!

Ms. Jammies

She proudly proclaims she has structured her days, nay her very existence, around being able to do things in her “jammies.”  Jammies, in this case, is what those of us over the age of four would term our pajamas.  She works from home… in her jammies.  She attends class… in her jammies.  Does she own pants?  Damned if we know, but why would she need to so long as she doesn’t engage the webcam?  Or, failing that, keep the view from the waist up.

Mr. Types with His Face

It takes a special sort of man to turn “no” into a four-letter word – and not that type of four-letter word.  Rather, a four-letter word that is wrong on every conceivable level: “nooe”.  Frankly, I’m pretty sure he just rams his forehead into the keyboard a few times, hits enter, and que sera, sera.

The Missing Link

They, personally, are missing a link – specifically, the link between their Smith Corona typewriter and the iPad 43 or whatever they were issued for the purpose of taking this class.  The Missing Link has offered one post to date wherein he/she does not acknowledge a gender but does acknowledge eligibility for an AARP card and a general sense of bafflement regarding anything not powered by steam.  His/her singular post is less an introduction than a cry for help with the requisite technology, begging, of course, the question of why he/she enrolled in an online program to begin with.

There are, of course, others amongst the colorful cast of characters assaulting the message boards.  However, time and space dictate that such a recanting must inevitably end.  Thus, I will not further detail the individual who chose a squatting toddler making a “gonna poop” face for their professional profile photo…or the individual who lists “covert ops” as an “interest” although they are currently unemployed and have never worked in law enforcement.  Yet of this much be assured: the online learning experience has imparted at least one bit of knowledge – the internet tubes’ filters aren’t strong enough.

Gangnam (APA) Style

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by The Untamed Shrew and Rampage Productions

In the immortal words of Cleavon Little, excuse me while I whip this out.  This, in this particular context, is my APA style book and not… You know what – I’m going to abort this sentence.  Now.  Right now.

I’m not sure what the general familiarity is with academic citation.  Presuming none, let it be said that it’s a generally accepted practice in college-level writing that, upon making a claim, one references the book, magazine, journal, or cosmic vibe that put such a harebrained thought into your skull.  This is for the convenience of other academics who will then use the information to mock you in their own papers conclusively disproving your thesis, which you can then counter-use to conclusively disprove the academics who conclusively disproved your previous thesis while simultaneously implying they’re doo-doo heads.

And so the circle of passive aggressiveness continues.

I feel an Elton John moment coming on.

The CIRCLE OF LIIIIIIFE!

The CIRCLE OF LIIIIIIFE!

Returning to the act of citation – or, as it is known by college students the world over, “that thing you sometimes do when you’re mostly sober” – APA (American Psychological Association) style is something of an unknown to me, being an English major and having forged the steel of my literary ability in MLA (Modern Language Association) style, also known as “that thing they keep changing every other freakin’ year.”  Yet my entrance into graduate academia has brought the foreign scourge of APA upon our household.  Enter the internets and the Purdue OWL.

Grammar Owl says, “Whom?” not “Who?”

Grammar Owl says, “Whom?” not “Who?”

My findings, in relation to APA style, are as follows (quotations in italics):

1. Pronouns are, apparently, of the devil.

APA does not recommend replacing “he” with “he or she,” “she or he,” “he/she,” “(s)he,” “s/he,” or alternating between “he” and “she” because these substitutions are awkward and can distract the reader from the point you are trying to make. The pronouns “he” or “she” inevitably cause the reader to think of only that gender, which may not be what you intend.

Apparently, when using APA style, one’s target audience is an ambiguously gendered snail.

Apparently, when using APA style, one’s target audience is an ambiguously gendered snail.

They go on to recommend replacing the pronoun with a noun – person, individual, child, researcher, etc. – as if somehow that will be less annoying.  My husband, a veritable paragon of helpfulness, recommended I just replace all my pronouns with “yo’ mama”; however, I rained on his parade when I pointed out “mama” was gendered.  Instead, it would have to be something like “yo’ caretaker” or “yo’ guardian,” which I think we can all agree detracts from the overall intent.

2. Identify people, but in a way that no can recognize them.

Use adjectives to serve as descriptors rather than labels. When you use terms such as “the elderly” or “the amnesiacs,” the people lose their individuality.

No they don’t.

They’re the amnesiacs.

That is their individuality.  I’d venture to say amnesia is a relatively defining characteristic.

And the good news is that odds are against them remembering their offense long enough to get their disapproval published in any sort of academic journal anyone cares about.

Yay scholarly writing!

3. Don’t write in verse?  Just try and stop me.

Writing papers in APA style is unlike writing in more creative or literary styles that draw on poetic expressions and figurative language. Such linguistic devices can detract from conveying your information clearly…. Therefore, you should minimize the amount of figurative language…such as metaphors and analogies…; and avoid rhyming schemes, alliteration, or other poetic devices typically found in verse.

I think that I shall never see

A paper written coherently

That did not when eyes read it first

Wish was writ in metered verse.

Alliteration-lacking phrase

Leaves the eyes in great malaise.

Why waste time on such fodder?

Why not chug wine instead of water?

The proud, albeit unwitting, sponsor of my graduate thesis.

The proud, albeit unwitting, sponsor of my graduate thesis.

Crappe Diem

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Why is the youngest generation plagued by a pervasive sense of entitlement?  I have discovered at least one source – diaper rewards programs.  For those who may be less familiar with babies’ backsides, allow me to clue you in to one of the many guerilla marketing tactics used to overwhelm the sleep-deprived, addled brains of parents with young children, particularly those who still demand assistance with their bowels.  Diaper manufacturers incentivize parents to purchase their wares by providing said parents with super secret codes hidden inside diaper packages that can be redeemed for various “rewards” – prizes in the form of trinkets and toys.  It’s sort of like the hidden prizes in Cracker Jacks…with an emphasis on the “crack.”  In effect, dear parents, this means your child is being rewarded for the very act of defecation itself.  (For the sake of full disclosure, my own daughter spent the last year pooping her way to a stuffed, talking poopy…er, puppy.)  Why, then, should we be surprised when our children end up physically grown and still thinking the world owes them – big time – for that big dump they just took?  And let’s be honest – it was magnificent.  How about a round of applause – or at least a moment of silence, which should come as no problem since we’ll all be holding our breath and noses, and donning hazmat suits.

The road to this puppy is paved with poo.

This crappy conundrum is then further compounded by the various prizes that are used to bribe our children to divert their excrement into a flushable device.  In my youth, I was rewarded with a shiny gold star sticker on the calendar for adequately crappy days – innocuous enough.  Yet juvenile demands have since escalated, and expectations include promises of Disneyland, puppies, and personal unicorn footmen to attend them if only they will squat in a predetermined location and not just wherever the urge happens to strike.  In my day (and yes, if read aloud, that would be pronounced with a harsh, aged rasp), it was reward enough not to have crap in one’s pants – although the occasional gold star was a nice bonus.

Child psychologists, you may keep your refrains of “positive reinforcement” and “self esteem.”  Parenting isn’t about being a child’s best friend so much as engaging in psychological warfare.  Over the centuries, children have gained the evolutionary advantage in this arena, equipping themselves as consummate manipulators – with their pudgy cheeks, itsy-bitsy fingers, diminutive skeletal structures, and intentional mispronunciation of basic words, the breed has never been deadlier.  We are programmed to respond to their every iddle-widdle command – and to do so with enthusiasm…and candy.

“Thank you, Mother and Father, for teaching me self-sufficiency.  In return for your great and wondrous deeds, you may now bring me a lollipop.  And something cuddly.  And tickets to ‘Sesame Street on Ice.’  You may go now.”

Yes, child, we shall.  But be forewarned – your day of reckoning is coming.  One day, we will be old, feeble, and – yes – possibly even incontinent.  On that most glorious day, one that shall live in infamy, we’ll have but one thing to say:

“We’re moving into your house.”