Love in the Time of Climate Change (36 page)

In a report released at U.N. climate talks in the Qatari capital of Doha, the World Meteorological Organization said the Arctic ice melt was one of a myriad of extreme and record-breaking weather events to hit the planet in 2012. Droughts devastated nearly two-thirds of the United States as well as western Russia and southern Europe. Floods swamped West Africa and heat waves left much of the Northern Hemisphere sweltering
.

But it was the ice melt that seemed to dominate the annual climate report, with the U.N. concluding ice cover had reached “a new record low” in the area around the North Pole and that the loss from March to September was a staggering 11.83 million square kilometers (3.57 million square miles)—an area bigger than the United States
. — Associated Press

T
HE THIRD
W
EDNESDAY OF THE MONTH
from noon to one is open-mike day at the cafeteria. There's a signup
sheet pinned next to the Office of Student Life, and anyone can stand up and strut their stuff while folks chow down. It's mostly your super-earnest singer-songwriter types, and some of the students are surprisingly good—new superstars just waiting to be discovered. My favorite this year was a young woman, sounding just like Aretha Franklin, who did an unaccompanied version of “Respect”—“
Uh huh, just a little bit, uh huh, just a little bit.…
” Knocked everyone's socks off.

Of course, there are always those acts that simply suck. Every semester this student who's been at PVCC for God only knows how long and imagines himself an outstanding Elvis impersonator does his thing. He can't sing worth shit, he doesn't have even the slightest bit of the Elvis look, and his pelvis can't twist for the life of him. But, good or bad, students are overwhelmingly kind. Even if they don't like someone, or just plain don't listen, they applaud politely. Open-mike day at the cafeteria has a nice, safe, community feel. It's definitely the place to be.

Fresh from their divestment campaign success, the Climate Changers had come up with a festive holiday skit for the Wednesday before winter break. The idea was unique: a Santa Claus rant on the effect of climate change on the polar ice caps. Political standup comedy. I thought it sounded rather lame but, hey, it was their gig. They were on a crazy roll and, once again, they were pumped.

The middle of December is a tough time of year for students. It's cold, it's dark, and the academic and personal stressors can be overwhelming. There are so many expectations around the holiday season, and students like mine, with so much on their plates, can find it difficult to cope. Add the impending trauma of finals week and exams and projects and papers, and a pall is cast over what should be a festive time. Unfortunate but true. Knowing this, the Climate Changers wanted to liven things up a little.

This Wednesday, the cafeteria was packed with students
studying and socializing, taking the edge off with way too many fries and greasy slices of pizza.

The Climate Changers were last on the list to perform. Somewhat arrogantly, they had insisted on closing out the show. “No one can possibly be better than us,” Trevor had insisted. “It would be unfair to other performers to follow our skit.”

Trevor was dressed as Santa. His friend worked in a porn shop in Northampton where, in the same aisle as the blow-up dolls and leopard-spotted lingerie and British maid outfits, for some unfathomable reason they also had a Santa suit, which his friend had loaned him. Go figure. Not cheap-shit Santa stuff, either, but sparkling attire with a flowing white beard and blinding red hat to match.

Trevor was not a big guy. Far from it. But he packed the Santa outfit with God knows what so that he could hardly move and he looked the real deal. When students saw him they stood up and cheered.

With a booming “Ho, Ho, Ho!” and plenty of high fives, Trevor, with his Santa bag slung over his shoulder, along with Hannah, dressed as an elf (also from the porn shop? I dared not go there!) sauntered up to the mike.

Students pounded on the table. “Santa! Santa! Santa!” they chanted. Kitchen staff emerged from the prep room to see what all the hullabaloo was about.

The MC grabbed the mike.

“Ladies and gents, boys and girls, Jews and Gentiles, please welcome, all the way from the North Pole, Santa and his Little Helper!”

The crowd went wild.

“Santa, Santa, Santa!”

Hannah waved for silence. I could certainly see why Trevor was infatuated with her. Not only was she incredibly smart and had the do-gooder, save-the-world gene, but
God
she looked good in that elf suit.

“Settle down, little ones,” she said. “Settle down. Unfortunately
I come bearing bad news. Really bad news! Shame on all of you! Shame! You all have been such naughty boys and girls this year. Very naughty!”

The crowd hooted. There were shouts of “liar” and “it wasn't me” and “I swear I didn't do it!” and “Thank God I'm Jewish!”

“Santa, have these unruly children been naughty?” Hannah the Elf asked.

“Really and truly nasty naughty!” Santa wagged his finger at the crowd.

There were groans and cries.

“And why have they been naughty, Santa?”

“
Naughty
's not the word for it!” Santa boomed, grabbing the mike off the stand and throwing down his bag. “More like badass diabolical! Outright evil! And you want to know why, elfykins? Why they've been so naughty?”

“Why?” the Elf asked.

“I'll tell you why! I work my ass off in a fucking freezing ice hell, 23/7—right?”

The crowd looked stunned, fries were frozen in midair.

“Day after frozen day what do I do? I churn out presents, right? I'm a goddamn present machine, right? Quality stuff, too!”

“Actually,” interrupted the Elf, “Truth be told, it's all us elves who do the work. You don't do squat, boss man!”

“You tell him, Elfie!” someone shouted from the back.

“Whatever,” said Santa, stealing back the mike. “I work my fingers to the bone and what thanks do I get? Huh, what thanks?”

Hannah sidled up to Trevor, wiggling her elvish rear in an exaggerated way and caressing his bulging belly.

“We have our fun,” she cooed, evidently an elf with benefits.

The crowd roared. Trevor and Hannah had them eating out of the palms of their hands.

Santa pushed her aside. “You know what I'm talking
about! I give gifts to millions around the world and how do you repay me? Huh? How?”

“I love you Santa!” a girl yelled.

“Then show it! Show it! You know what's going down in the North Pole right now? Do you?”

“You tell us, Claus man!”

“It is not good, my friends. We're on thin ice up there. Very thin ice. Just the other day Rudolph fell in all the way up to that annoying blinking nose of his. Mrs. Claus won't even go for a joyride in the sleigh, which is the only time I ever get anything from her anymore. She's scared to death! And my insurance bills! Jeez! They've skyrocketed! I can hardly afford to live there anymore. Santa's workshop is on the verge of a friggin' foreclosure! And do you know why? Do you?”

“Global warming!” Abbie shouted from the crowd, right on cue.

“Goddamn right it's global warming! For the love of Christ you're melting my ice caps up there! I lost one bigger than the whole U.S. of A just this last year! Wrap your little brains around that one!

“You and your friggin' fossilized fuels are killing me. Hell, there's a damn lake where the Lego factory used to be. A friggin' lake! We may be looking at Christmas with no Legos!”

“No Legos!” Abbie shouted.

“That's right, no goddamn Legos!”

Prompted by more Climate Changers, the crowd booed and hissed.

“Boo, damn it, that's right, hiss away.” Santa was in a frenzy. He paced back and forth, picking up his bag and holding it aloft. “Keep this shit up and there will be no North Pole. No North Pole means no Santa. No Santa means.…”

“No Christmas!” someone yelled. “No Christmas!”

“Goddamn right!”

“Boo!” the crowd screamed. “We want Christmas! We want Christmas!” Students began to pound on the tables again.

“Go on, chant away!” Santa shouted. “But if you want these presents, you're going to have to do better than that. Do you want these presents?”

“Yes!” the crowd screamed.

“Then you're going to have to promise me something!”

“We will!”

“Are you going to be good boys and girls?”

“Yes!”

“Not so naughty?”

“Yes!”

“Not buying all this bullshit you don't need? Not consuming for the sake of consumption? Thinking about what you're purchasing and its impact on climate change? Thinking about the true spirit of the holiday?”

“Yes!”

“Do you promise?”

“We promise!” the crowd roared.

“I can't hear you!”

“WE PROMISE!”

“Then you can have your presents!”

Trevor and Hannah ripped open the Santa bag and, in a move stolen straight from Mister Condom's presentation, threw fistfuls of condoms into the crowd. Pure pandemonium erupted. A table was turned over. Fries and pizza spilled everywhere as students madly scrambled to pocket the prophylactics.

“Go forth, my darlings!” Santa yelled. “And do not multiply!”

I looked over to see the dean, standing at the doorway. No scowl this time. No arched eyebrows. He turned toward me, put his finger next to his nose, and gave a wink and a nod.

I'
VE ALWAYS STRUGGLED
with how to evaluate students. It is one of the most difficult, time-consuming, and painful parts of my job. I have recurring fantasies about not giving grades at all and still having students show up to class every day, enthusiastic and raring to go, completing all of their assignments and readings on time without a whimper or a whine. No stress, no angst, no tears.

Dream on! It just doesn't work like that.

One of the ways I've chosen to evaluate students is by assigning a final project. It can be handed in at any time of the year but—surprise, surprise—except on extremely rare occasions it's not turned in until the last possible moment. After all, procrastination is a student's modus operandi.

The task is relatively simple: devise a project of your choice having something to do with The Issue.

It is the equivalent of a triple homework assignment—important, but not a grade buster.

“Think outside the box,” I encourage them. “Do something unique! Let your imagination run wild! Have fun!”

These projects can be hit or miss. I've had semesters
where the sophistication of year-end work was mind-boggling. Work that made me confident and optimistic that the world would be in good hands. Work that made me want to shout out from the roof of the main building, “I TAUGHT THESE FOLKS! THESE WERE MY STUDENTS IN MY CLASS! LISTEN TO WHAT THEY HAVE TO SAY!”

Last semester, this mousy kid who looked all of fourteen wrote a futuristic short story about an isolated post-apocalyptic outpost on an island off the coast of Greenland. People were waiting for the rising waters to wash them away. It made the hair rise on my head. I read it to Jesse and he cried himself to sleep.

Conversely there are those projects that made me want to crawl under a fucking rock and die. Grading them is the equivalent of driving splinters under my fingernails. Red-hot pokers to the eyeballs. A taser to the testicles. It takes a Herculean effort not to projectile vomit over their misspelled drivel.

Two weeks after the last drop-dead, no-more–excuses, yes-I-really-mean-it-this-time! deadline, final projects were still trickling in. Being the incredible hard-ass that I was, of course I accepted them.

This semester's projects were outstanding.

One of the students, caught up in the spirit of the holidays, made a sustainable gingerbread house. It had photovoltaic panels made of milk chocolate Hershey bars, a licorice-bladed wind turbine rising high above it. There was a pretzel-fenced compost pile with jujubes made to look like food waste. A backyard garden of kisses, candy corn, and gum drops. A chicken coop with marshmallow peeps. There was even a graham cracker composting outdoor toilet with M&M poop. To top it off, we got to devour all of it after her presentation. A definite A.

Four students, including Warren the Catastropharian, performed a skit. They fast-forwarded us to the year 2037,
twenty-five years into the future, when good had finally triumphed over evil and a just, peaceful, sustainable world was ours. They followed a day in the life of a typical PVCC student from his first-thing-in-the-morning shit in his composting toilet (aggressively acted by Warren with lots of farting noises—no M&M's this time) to his commute back home in the light rail car. His day was occupied by picking grapes from the PVCC organic vineyard, co-facilitating a conflict-resolution class, helping construct another photovoltaic array, doing a presentation on climate change to an elementary school class, and generally performing good deeds.