If this site HAD a “No Shit!” section, this would be in it.

NEW YORK - Today’s college students are more narcissistic and self-centered than their predecessors, according to a comprehensive new study by five psychologists who worry that the trend could be harmful to personal relationships and American society.

“We need to stop endlessly repeating ‘You’re special’ and having children repeat that back,” said the study’s lead author, Professor Jean Twenge of San Diego State University. “Kids are self-centered enough already.”

Twenge and her colleagues, in findings to be presented at a workshop Tuesday in San Diego on the generation gap, examined the responses of 16,475 college students nationwide who completed an evaluation called the Narcissistic Personality Inventory between 1982 and 2006.

The standardized inventory, known as the NPI, asks for responses to such statements as “If I ruled the world, it would be a better place,” “I think I am a special person” and “I can live my life any way I want to.”

The researchers describe their study as the largest ever of its type and say students’ NPI scores have risen steadily since the current test was introduced in 1982. By 2006, they said, two-thirds of the students had above-average scores, 30 percent more than in 1982.

Narcissism can have benefits, said study co-author W. Keith Campbell of the University of Georgia, suggesting it could be useful in meeting new people “or auditioning on ‘American Idol.’”

“Unfortunately, narcissism can also have very negative consequences for society, including the breakdown of close relationships with others,” he said.

The study asserts that narcissists “are more likely to have romantic relationships that are short-lived, lack emotional warmth, and to exhibit game-playing, dishonesty, and over-controlling and violent behaviors.”

Twenge, the author of “Generation Me: Why Today’s Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled — and More Miserable Than Ever Before,” said narcissists tend to lack empathy, react aggressively to criticism and favor self-promotion over helping others.

The researchers traced the phenomenon back to what they called the “self-esteem movement” that emerged in the 1980s, asserting that the effort to build self-confidence had gone too far.

As an example, Twenge cited a song commonly sung to the tune of “Frere Jacques” in preschool: “I am special, I am special. Look at me.”

Some analysts have commended today’s young people for increased commitment to volunteer work. But Twenge viewed even this phenomenon skeptically, noting that many high schools require community service and many youths feel pressure to list such endeavors on college applications.

Campbell said the narcissism upsurge seemed so pronounced that he was unsure if there were obvious remedies.

“Permissiveness seems to be a component,” he said. “A potential antidote would be more authoritative parenting. Less indulgence might be called for.”

The new report follows a study released by UCLA last month which found that nearly three-quarters of the freshmen it surveyed thought it was important to be “very well-off financially.” That compared with 62.5 percent who said the same in 1980 and 42 percent in 1966.

Yet students, while acknowledging some legitimacy to such findings, don’t necessarily accept negative generalizations about their generation.

Hanady Kader, a University of Washington senior, said she worked unpaid last summer helping resettle refugees and considers many of her peers to be civic-minded. But she is dismayed by the competitiveness of some students who seem prematurely focused on career status.

“We’re encouraged a lot to be individuals and go out there and do what you want, and nobody should stand in your way,” Kader said. “I can see goals and ambitions getting in the way of other things like relationships.”

Kari Dalane, a University of Vermont sophomore, says most of her contemporaries are politically active and not overly self-centered.

“People are worried about themselves — but in the sense of where are they’re going to find a place in the world,” she said. “People want to look their best, have a good time, but it doesn’t mean they’re not concerned about the rest of the world.”

Besides, some of the responses on the narcissism test might not be worrisome, Dalane said. “It would be more depressing if people answered, ‘No, I’m not special.’”

Mine eyes have seen the orgy of the launching of the Sword;
He is searching out the hoardings where the stranger’s wealth is stored;
He hath loosed his fateful lightnings, and with woe and death has scored;
His lust is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the Eastern dews and damps;
I have read his doomful mission by the dim and flaring lamps –
His night is marching on.

I have read his bandit gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my pretensions, so with you my wrath shall deal;
Let the faithless son of Freedom crush the patriot with his heel;
Lo, Greed is marching on!”

In a sordid slime harmonious Greed was born in yonder ditch,
With a longing in his bosom – and for others’ goods an itch.
As Christ died to make men holy, let men die to make us rich –
Our god is marching on.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic Brought Down to Date
Mark Twain, 1901.

Nothing ever really changes, does it?

(with apologies to Arlo Guthrie)

Names have been changed due to the Statute of Limitations.

And the only reason I’m singing you this song now is’ cause you may know somebody in a similar situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in a situation like that there’s only one thing you can do and that’s walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in say “Shrink, You can get anything you want, at Alice’s restaurant.”
—Arlo Guthrie, “Alice’s Restaurant,” 1966

8:00am, Wednesday morning, April 12, 2006

It was a usual, unexciting Wednesday morning. Woke up, had a cuppa and a cigarette, read a few pages from a biography of the Duke of Wellington I’m re-reading for the umpteenth time, showered, put on the cuffed pants, the white shirt, my favorite saffron tie, and headed off to work. Nothing special, nothing notable.

Until the bitch in the Ford Taurus, talking on her cellphone, looking west instead of east as she shot out into the traffic on Louetta, placed her immovable object directly in the path of my irresistible force—a 2002 Hyundai Excel, traveling at about 30 miles per hour.

(more…)

• I can see your point, but I still think you’re full of shit.
• I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll bet it’s hard to pronounce.
• How about never? Is never good for you?
• I see you’ve set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.
• I’m really easy to get along with once you people learn to see it my way.
• I’ll try being nicer if you’ll try being smarter.
• I’m out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message.
• I don’t work here. I’m a consultant.
• It sounds like English, but I can’t understand a damn word you’re saying.
• Ahhh…I see the screw-up fairy has visited us again.
• I like you. You remind me of myself when I was young and stupid.
• You are validating my inherent mistrust of strangers.
• I have plenty of talent and vision. I just don’t give a damn.
• I’m already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.
• I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
• Thank you. We’re all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view.
• The fact that no one understands you doesn’t mean you’re an artist.
• Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.
• What am I? Flypaper for freaks!?
• I’m not being rude. You’re just insignificant.
• It’s a thankless job, but I’ve got a lot of Karma to burn off.
• Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.
• And your crybaby whiny-assed opinion would be…?
• Do I look like a people person?
• This isn’t an office. It’s Hell with fluorescent lighting.
• I started out with nothing and I still have most of it left.
• Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.
• If I throw a stick, will you leave?
• Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.
• Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed.
• I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.
• A cubicle is just a padded cell without a door.
• Can I trade this job for what’s behind door #1?
• Too many freaks, not enough circuses.
• Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?
• Chaos, panic, and disorder - my work here is done.
• How do I set a laser printer to stun?
• I thought I wanted a career. Turns out I just wanted a salary.
• Who lit the fuse on your tampon?
• Oh I get it… like humour… but different.

Recently, a friend of mine asked my opinions on the validity of attention deficit disorder and related maladies. My response, which began life as an email, is reproduced here.

Regarding attention-deficit disorder.

My chequered career involves being IN secondary school when this entire ADD/HDD thing first started (mid- to late-70s), an undergrad in education in the early 80s, and teaching in various posts at both secondary and college levels, as well as a 3-year stint as a private high school principal.

My findings–only mine, of course–but what I believe.

ADD and HDD are not a myth. They are real, bonafide chemical imbalances that can, in fact, be helped by judicious application of certain mood-altering drugs. Let’s not call ‘em “medicine,” cause they’re NOT, not any more than Prozac is a “medicine.” They’re mood-altering drugs, regulated by government guidelines, as well they should be.

That being said, however, it also is a fact (remember, you’re seeing this through my eyes, so take it for what you will) that at least for 20 years (’75 though ‘95) the stock reaction towards ANY kid who wouldn’t sit still, didn’t concentrate on his/her schoolwork, etc., was that this child was ADD/HDD, which simply is not true. The analogy I used with parents when I was a principal was “If you have a burning sensation in your chest, yes, it could be a heart attack. It could also be bad kippers, a strained muscle, or any of a hundred other things.”

For a _long_ time–a generation, when you think about it–the immediate reaction to a child who was “jittery” was to, bluntly, drug the fuck out of them and, _even_more_importantly_, teach them that the fact that they had trouble in school was not THEIR FAULT, not THEIR RESPONSIBILITY–and the medical and psychological professions hammered that viewpoint home to the parents as well. To take the wide viewpoint, the diagnosis foisted on everyone (and readily accepted!) was that the kid’s behavior wasn’t anyone’s _fault_–ergo, NO ONE WAS RESPONSIBLE.

IMHO, that’s bullshit.

I’d say, using a ballpark guess from my experience, that of every 10 kids I’ve taught or lorded over who took Ritalin or some other drug, only about 1, maybe 2 of them actually needed it.

The rest? Lazy kids, lazy parents (frequently), adults who wanted to _have_ children but not _teach_ them or engage in any active parenting skills. So, so many people don’t understand–and, might I add, don’t WANT to understand–that being a parent is very, very difficult, and takes dump-truck loads of patience to do right. Since WW2, the prevailing and escalating though-processes of American societal mores has been the move towards what I call the “I’m not responsible” mentality, and it makes me sick.

Remember Glenn Frey’s hit of the ’80s, “Get Over It?” A silly pop song, but uncomfortably near the mark–I used to quote it (sometimes SING it) to my college classes:

I turn on the tube and what do I see
A whole lotta people cryin’ “Don’t blame me”
They point their crooked little fingers ar everybody else
Spend all their time feelin’ sorry for themselves
Victim of this, victim of that
Your momma’s too thin; your daddy’s too fat

Get over it
Get over it
All this whinin’ and cryin’ and pitchin’ a fit
Get over it, get over it

You say you haven’t been the same since you had your little crash
But you might feel better if I gave you some cash
The more I think about it, Old Billy was right
Let’s kill all the lawyers, kill ‘em tonight
You don’t want to work, you want to live like a king
But the big, bad world doesn’t owe you a thing

Get over it
Get over it
If you don’t want to play, then you might as well split
Get over it, Get over it

It’s like going to confession every time I hear you speak
You’re makin’ the most of your losin’ streak
Some call it sick, but I call it weak

You drag it around like a ball and chain
You wallow in the guilt; you wallow in the pain
You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown
Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down
Complain about the present and blame it on the past
I’d like to find your inner child and kick its little ***

Get over it
Get over it
All this bitchin’ and moanin’ and pitchin’ a fit
Get over it, get over it

Get over it
Get over it
It’s gotta stop sometime, so why don’t you quit
Get over it, get over it

NOW you know why I didn’t post, but just in writing this email, I’m tempted to go write something in that topic…
Grrrrrr,
-m

Once upon a time, when I still thought that crank calls were actually humorous, I would occasionally call up some unsuspecting individual, and as soon as I discerned that they had the phone to their ear, I’d say, before they had a chance to speak, something like “Domino’s Pizza; will this be for pickup or delivery?” The weak premise was to somehow convince them that they’d called me.

No, it wasn’t very humorous, really. And it’s still not, especially when it’s from a telemarketer.

I’m currently involved with a mild altercation with my bank. They say one thing, I say another. We’ll get it worked out. However, they have utilized the services, apparently, of this company whose job is to actually make the phone calls. I’ve received calls from “Missus Blackwell” and “Mistah Williams” et. Al., who demand that I call them back IMMEDIATELY.

But lately, I’ve been getting an even more annoying version. It’s bad enough when I answer the phone and get a computerized voice telling me “This call is important to us; please remain on the line and the first available representative will be with you shortly.” Let me get this straight–you called me and I’m on hold? I’m supposed to wait for the omnipotent, distinguished, celebrated MISSUS BLACKWELL to shake loose a few moments for me, when (a) I don’t know who the fuck is calling; (b) I don’t know who the fuck MISSUS BLACKWELL is; and (c) What the fuck?

Note: This is particularly surreal and somewhat idiotic when I check my voicemail to discover that Company X called me and put my voicemail on hold. I would have thought that would cause time-travel or something.

I understand that this is common practice now, but a few points, if any of you souls who actually make the calls are reading this.

• I don’t answer calls whose caller ID shows as “UNK-NOWN.” Not now, not ever. I am also aware that I am not the only person in the universe who behaves in this manner. Here’s big fat fucking clue, folks: If you actually expect to make human contact at some point, configure your damned phone banks to show who is calling. People who are avoiding bill collectors, lawyers, rabid ex-significant-others, etc., are not going to answer the phone, ever. Those of us who merely are avoiding telemarketers and are actually attempting in a good-faith fashion to resolve problems are more likely than not to answer the phone if it says “BankOne” as opposed to “UNK-NOWN.”
• Christ on a crutch, people, don’t EVER call me and put me on hold auto-magically. I will hang up. I will NOT wait. Fuck. You.
• If, by the off chance, the human on the phones representing Company X does in fact leave a real, not-computer-generated message, don’t be coy–tell me who Company X is. I won’t call you back, not even if you’re fuckin’ MISSUS BLACKWELL (insert appropriate neighing of horses, thunder and lightening here, a la Young Frankenstein).
• One final little tidbit: I know it’ll be challenging for you, but do try to wipe that damned patronizing, arrogant, condescending, supercilious, pretentious sneer out of your voice, eh? I know you may spend all your days calling credit-card bill dodgers, writers of rubberized cheques, and deadbeat dads, but lo and behold, I ain’t one of ‘em. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re not Hammurabi, dispensing justice and judgements to the great masses of the unwashed–you’re a phone weenie. In case you missed it above, let me recapitulate for your benefit: Fuck. You.

No, I don’t expect any of the Phone Weenie Battalion to be reading this, and if they are, perhaps they’re one of the “good” ones who doesn’t get all puffed up by holding a position of imagined authority. In that case, good; try to convert your colleagues.

On the other hand, if a representative of a generic Company X is reading this, or (Jesu forfend!) if you’re reading this, MISSUS BLACKWELL (neigh, crash, boom), try to remember that in utilizing such obviously ridiculous, obfuscative, and offensive tactics you’re not scaring anybody, and you’re not getting results. You’re just pissing people off.