Cinemorphosis

Category: Education in the AI Age

  • AI High School Graduates Are Here—and They’re Better Cheaters Than We Are Teachers

    AI High School Graduates Are Here—and They’re Better Cheaters Than We Are Teachers

    Lila Shroff argues that education has entered its Wild West phase in her essay “The AI Takeover of Education Is Just Getting Started,” and she’s right in the way that makes administrators nervous and instructors tired. Our incoming college students are not stumbling innocents. They are veterans of four full years of AI high school. They no longer dabble in crude copy-and-paste plagiarism. That’s antique behavior. Today’s students stitch together outputs from multiple AI models, then instruct the chatbot to scuff the prose with a few grammatical missteps so it smells faintly human and slips past detection software. This is not cheating as shortcut; it is cheating as workflow optimization.

    Meanwhile, high school teachers may be congratulating themselves for assigning Shakespeare, Keats, and Dostoevsky, but many are willfully ignoring the obvious. Students are using AI constantly—for summaries, study guides, feedback, and comprehension scaffolding. AI is CliffsNotes on growth hormones, and pretending otherwise is an exercise in institutional denial.

    Educators, of course, are not standing outside the saloon wagging a finger. They are inside, ordering drinks. Shroff notes that teachers now use AI to design assignments, align curriculum to standards, grade against rubrics, and complete the paperwork that keeps schools legally hydrated. Nearly a third of K–12 teachers reported weekly AI use last year, and that number has only climbed as profession-specific tools like MagicSchool AI churn out rubrics, worksheets, and report-card comments on demand. The teacher as craftsman is quietly becoming the teacher as editor.

    AI’s grip tightens most aggressively where schools are already bleeding resources. In districts short on tutors and counselors, AI steps in as a substitute for services that were never funded in the first place. It is not reform; it is triage. And once institutions get a taste of saving money by not hiring tutors and counselors, it is naïve to think that teaching positions will remain untouchable. Cost-saving rarely stops at the first ethical boundary it crosses.

    That is why this feels like the Wild West. There is no shared map. Some schools welcome AI like a messiah. Others quarantine it like a contagious disease. Many simply shrug and admit they are baffled. Policy is reactive, inconsistent, and often written by people who do not understand the technology well enough to regulate it intelligently.

    I see the consequences weekly in my college classroom. I read plenty of AI slop—essays with perfect grammar and no pulse, paragraphs that gesture toward ideas they never quite touch. Some students have clearly checked out, outsourcing not just sentences but thinking itself. And yet AI is also an undeniable equalizer. Students emerging from underfunded schools with sixth-grade literacy levels are submitting essays with clean syntax and logical structure. They are using AI to outline arguments, test thesis ideas, and stabilize skills they were never taught. The tool giveth and the tool holloweth out.

    People like to invoke “too big to fail,” but the analogy is incomplete. We do not know which AI—ChatGPT, Gemini, Claude, or some yet-unseen contender—will dominate. What we do know is that AI is already embedded in education, culture, and the economy. There is no reversing this process. The toothpaste is not going back in the tube, no matter how sternly we lecture it.

    So I tell my students the only honest thing left to say: we don’t know what we’re doing. Our roles are unsettled. Our identities are unstable. We are feeling our way through a dark cave without a map and without guarantees. There may be light ahead, or there may not. The only sane posture is humility—paired with curiosity, caution, and a sober gratitude that even a force this disruptive may yield benefits we are not yet wise enough to recognize.

  • The Copy-Paste Generation and the Myth of the Fallen Classroom

    The Copy-Paste Generation and the Myth of the Fallen Classroom

    There is no ambiguity in Ashanty Rosario’s essay title: “I’m a High Schooler. AI Is Demolishing My Education.” If you somehow miss the point, the subtitle elbows you in the ribs: “The end of critical thinking in the classroom.” Rosario opens by confessing what every honest student now admits: she doesn’t want to cheat with AI, but the tools are everywhere, glowing like emergency exits in a burning building. Some temptations are structural.

    Her Exhibit A is a classmate who used ChatGPT to annotate Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass. These annotations—supposed evidence of engaged reading—were nothing more than “copy-paste edu-lard,” a caloric substitute for comprehension. Rosario’s frustration reminds me of a conversation with one of my brightest students. On the last day of class, he sat in my office and casually admitted that he uses ChatGPT to summarize all his reading. His father is a professor; he wakes up at five for soccer practice; he takes business calculus for fun. He is not a slacker. He is a time-management pragmatist surviving the 21st century. He reads the AI summaries, synthesizes them, and writes excellent essays. Of course I’d love for him to spend slow hours with books, but he is not living in 1954. He is living in a culture where time is a scarce resource, and AI is his oxygen mask.

    My daughters and their classmates face the same problem with Macbeth. Shakespeare’s language might as well be Martian for a generation raised on TikTok compression and dopamine trickle-feeds. They watch film versions of the play and use AI to decode plot points so they can answer the teacher’s study questions without sounding like they slept through the Renaissance. Some purists will howl that this is intellectual cheating. But as a writing instructor, I suspect the teacher benefits from students who at least know what’s happening—even if their knowledge comes from a chatbot. Expecting a 15-year-old to read Macbeth cold is like assigning tensor calculus to a preschooler. They haven’t done their priors. So AI becomes a prosthetic. A flotation device. A translation machine dropped into a classroom years overdue. To blame AI for the degradation of education is tempting, but it’s also lazy. We live in a society where reading is a luxury good and the leisure class quietly guards the gates.

    In the 1970s, I graduated from a public high school with literacy skills so thin you could read the room through them. I took remedial English my freshman year of college. If I were a student today, dropped into 2025 with those same deficits, I would almost certainly lean on AI just to keep my head above water. The difference is that today’s students aren’t just supplementing—they’re optimizing. They tell me this openly: over ninety percent of my students use AI because their skills don’t match the workload and because, frankly, everyone else is doing it. It’s an arms race of survival, not a moral collapse.

    Still, Rosario is right about the aftermath. She writes: “AI has softened the consequences of procrastination and led many students to avoid doing any work at all. There is little intensity anymore.” When thinking becomes optional, students drift into a kind of algorithmic sleepwalking. They outsource cognition until they resemble NPCs in a glitching video game—avatars performing human imitation rather than human thought. My colleagues and I see it, semester after semester: the fade-out, the disengagement, the slow zombification.

    Colleges are scrambling to respond. Should we police AI with plagiarism detectors? Should we ban laptops and force students to write essays in composition books under watchful eyes like parolees in a literary halfway house? Should we pretend the flood can be stopped with a beach towel?

    Reading Rosario’s lament about “cookie-cutter AI arguments,” I thought of my one visit to Applebee’s in the early 2000s. The menu photos promised ambrosia. The food tasted like something engineered in a lab to be technically edible yet spiritually vacant. Applebee’s was AI before AI—an assembly line of flavorless simulacra. Humanity gravitates toward the easy, the prepackaged, the frictionless. AI didn’t invent mediocrity. It merely handed it a megaphone.

    Rosario, clearly, is not an Applebee’s soul. She’s Michelin-level in a world eager to eat microwaved Hot Pockets. Of course her heart sinks when classmates settle for fast-food literacy. I want to tell her that if she were in high school in the 1970s, she’d still witness an appetite for shortcut learning. The tools would be different, the essays less slick, but the gravitational pull toward mediocrity would be the same. The human temptation to bypass difficulty is not technological—it’s ancestral. AI simply automates the old hunger.

  • Artificial Intelligence and the Collapse of Classroom Thinking (college essay prompt)

    Artificial Intelligence and the Collapse of Classroom Thinking (college essay prompt)

    Artificial intelligence now drafts thesis statements, outlines arguments, rewrites weak prose, and gives students a shortcut past the cognitive struggle that learning used to require. Some critics warn that AI corrodes motivation, weakens mastery, and turns students into spectators of their own minds. Others argue that AI is merely revealing the truth we refused to confront: that modern education was already driven by templates, disengagement, and shallow assessment long before ChatGPT arrived. Still others suggest the two forces interact in a feedback loop—an educational system already limping is now asked to carry a technological weight it cannot bear.

    Write an argumentative essay in which you address the following question:

    To what extent is AI responsible for the erosion of student learning, and to what extent does it merely amplify the structural weaknesses already embedded in contemporary education?

    Your position may argue that:

    • AI is the primary driver of decline,
    • systemic failures are the primary driver,
    • or both forces interact in a way that cannot be separated.
      This is not a binary assignment—your task is to map the relationship between these forces with precision and evidence.

    Assigned Readings

    You must use at least four writers from the following list as central sources in your essay.
    You may also draw from additional credible sources.

    Critics who argue AI is damaging education

    1. Ashanty Rosario — “I’m a High Schooler. AI Is Demolishing My Education.”
    2. Lila Shroff — “The AI Takeover of Education Is Just Getting Started.”
    3. Damon Beres — “AI Has Broken High School and College.”
    4. Michael Clune — “Colleges Are Preparing to Self-Lobotomize.”

    Writers who shift the crisis away from AI

    1. Ian Bogost — “College Students Have Already Changed Forever.”
    2. Tyler Austin Harper — “The Question All Colleges Should Ask Themselves About AI.”
    3. Tyler Austin Harper — “ChatGPT Doesn’t Have to Ruin College.”
    4. John McWhorter — “My Students Use AI. So What?”

    Your Essay Must Include the Following Components

    1. Analyze one critic who argues AI is corrosive.

    Choose one writer who describes how AI erodes motivation, mastery, identity, intellectual struggle, or authentic thinking.
    Identify the mechanism of harm:
    How does AI disrupt learning—and where, exactly, does the breakdown occur?

    2. Analyze one writer who shifts blame away from AI.

    Choose a writer who argues that the crisis originates in curriculum design, academic culture, standardized writing templates, disengagement, or institutional inertia.
    Explain their diagnosis:
    What was broken before AI entered the classroom?

    3. Develop your own argument that maps the relationship between these forces.

    Your task is to explain how AI and the educational system interact.
    Does AI accelerate a decline already underway?
    Does it expose weaknesses the system refuses to address?
    Or does it create problems the system is too brittle to manage?
    Define the threshold:
    When does AI function as a constructive learning tool, and when does it become a crutch that erases struggle and depth?

    4. Include a substantial counterargument and rebuttal.

    Address the strongest opposing viewpoint—not a caricature—and respond with evidence and reasoning.

    Requirements

    • Minimum of 4 credible sources (MLA)
    • At least 4 assigned essays
    • MLA Works Cited
    • An essay that argues, rather than summarizes

    Guiding Question

    What kind of intellectual culture emerges when AI becomes normal—and who (or what) is ultimately responsible for shaping that culture?

  • How Luxury Spaces Produced the Last Man (college essay prompt)

    How Luxury Spaces Produced the Last Man (college essay prompt)

    Over the last two decades, American consumer spaces—from sports arenas to airport terminals—have been redesigned to prioritize comfort, insulation, curated experience, and a sense of premium belonging. These spaces promise elevated existence: velvet-rope exclusivity, controlled environments, personalized amenities, and buffers that shield patrons from inconvenience, unpredictability, or discomfort. In other words, they promise a life free from friction.

    Two recent New Yorker essays vividly capture this shift. In “How the Sports Stadium Went Luxe,” John Seabrook traces the transformation of professional sports stadiums from gritty, communal, occasionally chaotic spaces into stratified luxury environments where spectators increasingly consume the spectacle from suites, clubs, micro-environments, and upgraded “experiences” designed for a privileged few. The stadium, once a rowdy democratic gathering where masses cheered together, now resembles a branded theme park of status tiers—where the game itself recedes behind the performance of being someone who can afford to be in the right section.

    Zach Helfand’s “The Airport-Lounge Wars” extends this critique to modern travel. Airports now offer a bifurcated universe: the cramped, stressful, gate-area masses and the plush, curated lounges where passengers sip fruit-infused water under soft lighting while charging their devices and sampling “elevated” snacks. Helfand describes these lounges as “slightly better than nothing”—a telling phrase that captures the absurdity of luxury whose chief purpose is to soothe adult anxiety rather than provide meaningful enrichment. In both essays, the consumer becomes less a citizen than a carefully handled customer—shielded, pacified, and cocooned.

    This convergence of comfort, curated experience, and luxury has resulted in what many cultural critics call infantilization: the softening of the adult individual into a person who increasingly depends on structures of comfort, performs curated identity, avoids discomfort, and loses tolerance for challenge. Nietzsche warned of such a figure in Thus Spoke Zarathustra when he described the Last Man—a being who seeks comfort above all else, avoids risk, avoids conflict, avoids intensity, avoids suffering, and declares smugly, “We have invented happiness.” The Last Man lives in a society that confuses convenience with flourishing, comfort with meaning, and safety with virtue.

    Your task is to analyze how Seabrook’s and Helfand’s essays each illustrate the rise of infantilization through the growing cultural obsession with luxury, curated experience, and personal insulation. You will argue how both writers, in different contexts, reveal a society drifting toward Nietzsche’s Last Man—where people are increasingly coddled, increasingly fragile, increasingly comfort-dependent, and increasingly detached from the communal, unpredictable, and occasionally uncomfortable experiences that once defined adulthood.

    To build your argument, consider the thematic questions and analytic frameworks below. You may address several of them or focus deeply on a smaller selection, but your essay must ultimately make a clear, debatable claim about how the phenomenon of infantilization unfolds in both essays.

    1. Luxury as Surrogate Identity: The Cosplay of Importance

    Seabrook describes stadiums where spectators no longer attend to watch the game—they attend to be seen in a particular environment, to signal aura, to inhabit a curated identity. Luxury boxes, clubs, insulated corridors, private entrances, and gastronomic stations function not as amenities but as props for self-presentation. Patrons “cosplay” as elites through their seating choices. Helfand observes the same phenomenon in airport lounges: passengers use lounge access to projects status, gravitas, and “importance.” The lounge becomes a stage where individuals perform adulthood through perks.

    Analyze how luxury becomes a kind of identity cosplay. How does performance replace participation? How does curated environment become a psychological crutch for fragile egos?

    2. Comfort as a Psychological Drug

    Both essays describe environments designed to eliminate discomfort: cushioned seating, privacy, temperature-controlled rooms, abundant amenities, and curated calm. Patrons no longer tolerate cold seats, crowds, unpredictable noise, or the chaos of public life.

    In Nietzsche’s framing, this desire for frictionless existence is the defining trait of the Last Man: a person who fears intensity and pain more than insignificance.

    Examine how both essays portray comfort not as a neutral good, but as a chemical sedative—an anesthetic that dulls the senses and diminishes the human appetite for challenge.

    3. Infantilization Through Convenience and Insulation

    Helfand’s lounges function like nurseries for adults: soft lighting, soothing music, easily accessible snacks, staff catering to passengers’ needs, and gentle removal from the stressful “real world” of airports. Seabrook’s luxury stadiums behave similarly: they protect spectators from bad weather, loud crowds, long lines, and general inconvenience.

    Ask: What happens to adults who no longer encounter difficulty or discomfort in public spaces? How do these environments promote emotional regression, fragility, or dependency? How do cushioned experiences erode resilience?

    4. The Collapse of the Communal Experience

    Traditional stadiums were communal crucibles: strangers hugging after a touchdown, fans screaming in unison, unified collective identity. Luxe stadiums fracture that experience into premium sections, exclusive clubs, and tiered access.

    Airports once functioned as equalizers—everyone endured the same wait, the same lines, the same discomfort. Now, lounges separate the “important” travelers from the masses.

    How does segregation by luxury contribute to infantilization? Does comfort isolate individuals in echo chambers of curated ease? How does the decline of communal friction foster narcissism and social detachment?

    5. Emotional Labor and Passivity

    Luxury environments demand certain emotional performances: politeness, calmness, carefully managed pleasantness. In lounges, passengers adopt a soft demeanor; in stadium clubs, patrons behave with polite detachment rather than unruly fandom.

    Adults become well-behaved children: quiet, controlled, pacified.

    Discuss how both essays show the replacement of passionate, authentic emotional expression with sanitized, polite, passive behavior. How does this behavioral shift align with the Last Man’s avoidance of intensity?

    6. Tiered Access, Fragile Status, and the Anxiety of Comfort

    Both essays highlight how luxury spaces create hierarchies: VIP vs general admission, club members vs regular fans, lounge patrons vs the gate-area masses. These hierarchies foster anxiety because comfort becomes contingent on status—and status becomes fragile.

    In Nietzsche’s Last Man, community is replaced by individualistic comfort-chasing. How do tiered luxury systems cultivate insecurity, status-dependence, and infantilized anxiety?

    7. Authenticity as Inconvenience

    In both essays, authenticity of experience is subtly mocked or sidelined. The real stadium experience—mess, discomfort, unpredictability—gets replaced by cushioned sterility. The real airport experience—crowds, lines, irritation—is smoothed into a curated simulation of adult life.

    Nietzsche warned that the Last Man despises authenticity because authenticity requires discomfort.

    How do Seabrook and Helfand portray authenticity as an endangered species—and how does its absence produce infantilization?

    Write a 1,700-word comparative essay that argues:

    How and why a society obsessed with curated luxury and frictionless experience becomes an infantilized culture that resembles Nietzsche’s Last Man. John Seabrook’s “How the Sports Stadium Went Luxe” and Zach Helfand’s “The Airport-Lounge Wars” provide complementary case studies of how comfort, status-tiering, and curated identity hollow out adult resilience, diminish communal life, and normalize passivity.

    Your essay must:

    1. Develop a strong, debatable thesis about how infantilization manifests in both essays.
    2. Analyze key passages from Seabrook and Helfand with close reading.
    3. Compare how each writer critiques luxury culture through examples, tone, description, and anecdote.
    4. Incorporate Nietzsche’s concept of the Last Man as a theoretical grounding.
    5. Include a counterargument—for example, that comfort is a legitimate human good, that luxury enhances experience, or that curated spaces improve efficiency or mental health.
    6. Rebut the counterargument with evidence from the essays and your own reasoning.
    7. Conclude with broader implications—what kind of citizens does luxury culture produce? What happens to democracy, community, or adulthood when society builds padded rooms for the affluent?

    Your writing should demonstrate intellectual rigor, clarity of organization, and precise control of prose. Engage deeply with the texts. Show the reader how these essays illuminate not just consumer culture, but the deeper philosophical question Nietzsche raised: What kind of humans are we becoming?

  • Weapons of Fear: Epistemic Collapse in Eddington and Weapons (college writing prompt)

    Weapons of Fear: Epistemic Collapse in Eddington and Weapons (college writing prompt)

    Over the last decade, American culture has undergone a profound crisis of shared reality—what scholars call an epistemic collapse. In the vacuum created by fractured institutions, algorithm-driven outrage, political opportunism, and a populace trained to distrust expertise, communities have turned inward, building their own private universes of truth. Two recent films—Ari Aster’s Eddington (2024) and Zach Cregger’s Weapons (2025)—stand at the center of this cultural conversation. While their genres differ—Eddington as a neo-Western political drama and Weapons as a folk-horror anthology—both films dramatize the same underlying catastrophe: when people no longer agree on what is real, they become dangerously easy to manipulate, divide, and weaponize.

    In Eddington, the small New Mexico town is already fractured before the plot begins. The COVID-19 pandemic becomes the spark that exposes deep fault lines: anti-mask sheriff Joe Cross stokes resentment and paranoia, pro-mandate Mayor Ted Garcia attempts to preserve public health in a community that no longer trusts him, and the town’s institutions melt under the weight of political rage, conspiracy theories, and personal vendettas. Masks, lockdowns, land rights, and municipal policy become symbols of existential war. Citizens drift into echo chambers where identity outweighs truth and where “freedom” can be invoked to justify violence. Through these tensions, Eddington examines how tribal politics, misinformation, and fear transform ordinary people into agents of chaos—into what the film metaphorically frames as “weapons.”

    Weapons begins in a seemingly different register—a folk-horror narrative involving children, trauma, and community superstition—but it ultimately reveals itself as a story about the same phenomenon: collective panic filling the void left by failed institutions. When mysterious events shake the town, people reach not for evidence, reason, or communal deliberation, but for myths. Rumors calcify into “truth,” grief mutates into paranoia, and the community turns against itself in a desperate search for someone to blame. In this atmosphere, children, grief-stricken parents, and unstable townspeople all become susceptible to narratives that promise clarity and purpose, even at the price of cruelty. Like Eddington, Weapons suggests that the human need for certainty can be exploited, turning vulnerable people into instruments of violence.

    Both films take place in communities that feel abandoned—by government, by truth, by stability, by the social contract. In Eddington, the pandemic reveals a town already primed for collapse: neighbors distrust each other, public servants abuse their power, and media ecosystems churn conspiracies at a devastating pace. In Weapons, the terror centers on mysterious disappearances and supernatural dread, but the underlying cause is similar: when people feel unmoored, they grasp at stories—however irrational—that make sense of suffering. In both cases, the crisis is not just external; it is psychological, emotional, and cultural. These films argue that a society that no longer shares a framework of truth inevitably begins producing its own monsters.

    Your task is to write a comparative, argumentative essay that analyzes how both Eddington and Weapons depict the collapse of shared reality and the transformation of ordinary individuals into “weapons”—tools of fear, ideology, grief, or superstition. You will argue how each film uses different storytelling techniques to illuminate the same cultural trauma: a nation where trust in institutions has eroded, where truth is increasingly privatized, and where communities respond to uncertainty with tribalism, scapegoating, and paranoia.

    To frame your argument, consider the following thematic questions:

    1. Epistemic Crisis: What happens when communities no longer share the same reality?

    In Eddington, the pandemic becomes a catalyst for unraveling collective trust. Sheriff Joe Cross exploits the crisis for personal power, leveraging fear and resentment to undermine public-health directives. Misinformation spreads faster than illness, and political theater replaces governance. In Weapons, suspicion and folk belief dominate; characters construct supernatural explanations for grief they cannot otherwise process. How do these fictional communities illustrate the broader national struggle to maintain a shared understanding of truth?

    2. Scapegoating and Manufactured Monsters

    Both films show societies that create monsters when reality becomes intolerable. In Weapons, grief and superstition lead to scapegoating—outsiders, children, even supernatural entities become symbols of community anxiety. In Eddington, “the monster” is political: masks, mandates, immigrants, liberals, conservatives—whatever the tribe defines as the existential threat. Analyze how each film uses its respective genre (horror vs. political drama) to critique the human impulse toward blame when confronted with collective fear.

    3. The Weaponized Individual: When people become instruments of chaos

    Sheriff Cross turns himself into a political weapon; Vernon weaponizes conspiracy thinking; Brian transforms a viral video into a career. Meanwhile, characters in Weapons become pawns of rumor and superstition. How do the films examine the way individuals can be radicalized or repurposed by fear, trauma, or ideological narratives?

    4. Institutional Failure and the Vacuum It Creates

    In Eddington, institutions collapse under pressure: public health, municipal leadership, local law enforcement, media, and even basic civic trust. In Weapons, institutions either fail or play no meaningful role, leaving individuals to fill the void with folklore and violent improvisation. Compare how each film portrays the consequences of institutional breakdown—and how that vacuum shapes community behavior.

    5. The Loss of Humanity in a Post-COVID World

    Even though Weapons is not explicitly a pandemic film, its emotional landscape reflects post-COVID anxieties: loneliness, grief, mistrust, and the longing for clear explanations. Eddington addresses the pandemic head-on, depicting how fear strips people of empathy and connection. In both films, humanity erodes as people prioritize survival, identity, or belonging over compassion. Analyze how each story portrays this transformation.

    6. The Role of Media, Algorithmic Influence, and Storytelling

    Eddington explicitly critiques media spectacle and algorithmic manipulation; Weapons does so more subtly through mythmaking and rumor. Compare how each film reveals the power of narrative—factual or fictional—to shape belief, identity, and behavior. What does each film suggest about the modern American hunger for stories that confirm our fears, validate our tribal loyalties, or simplify our grief?

    7. The Nietzschean Last Man: A Society Without Higher Purpose

    For extra depth, you may choose to integrate the concept of Nietzsche’s “Last Man”—the individual who seeks comfort over purpose, safety over meaning, distraction over responsibility. Which characters in each film exemplify this drift toward nihilism? Does each film suggest that the Last Man is a symptom of cultural decay—or part of its cause?

    Write a comparative essay of 1,800–2,200 words that argues how Eddington and Weapons portray the following intertwined themes:

    • the breakdown of shared reality
    • the rise of tribalism and paranoia
    • the transformation of ordinary people into “weapons”
    • the creation of monsters—psychological, political, or supernatural—to fill the void left by institutional failure
    • the erosion of humanity in a culture defined by fear, spectacle, and algorithmic influence

    Your thesis must make a clear, debatable claim about what these films reveal about post-COVID American society. You must support your analysis with close reading of key scenes, comparison of cinematic techniques, and sustained argumentation.

    Your essay must also include:

    1. A Counterargument

    Acknowledge at least one opposing view—for example, the claim that Eddington is primarily about political extremism while Weapons is primarily about horror and grief, and therefore the comparison is forced. Then rebut that view by showing that genre differences sharpen, rather than undermine, the thematic parallels.

    2. A Rebuttal

    Explain why your central claim still holds. You may argue that both films are ultimately parables about epistemic breakdown and human vulnerability in the absence of trusted institutions.

    3. A Conclusion That Opens Outward

    Discuss what these films suggest about where American culture may be heading if fragmentation, mistrust, and weaponized narratives continue.

    Your writing should demonstrate:

    • analytical depth
    • clarity
    • engagement with cinematic detail
    • strong comparative structure
    • thoughtful paragraph organization
    • precise sentence-level control

    This essay invites you not only to compare two compelling films, but also to reflect on the cultural moment that shaped them—and the uncertain landscape we now inhabit.

  • Confessions of a College Writing Instructor in Transition

    Confessions of a College Writing Instructor in Transition

    Yesterday morning at the college, I ran into the Writing Center director and asked whether AI had thinned out the crowds of students seeking help. To his surprise, the numbers were down only slightly—less than ten percent. I told him I’m retiring in three semesters and have no idea what the job of a writing instructor will look like five years from now. He nodded and said what we’re all thinking: we’re in the middle of a technological tectonic shift, and no one knows where the fault lines lead.

    When I got home, I realized that when I meet my students face-to-face in Spring 2026, I’ll need to level with them. Something like this:

    Hello, Students.

    I won’t sugarcoat it. Writing instructors are in transition, and many of us don’t quite know our role anymore. We’re feeling our way through the dark. To pretend otherwise would be less than honest, and the one thing we need right now is credibility. 

    In this class, you’ll write three essays—each roughly two thousand words. The first examines GLP-1 drugs like Ozempic and the messy question of free will in weight management: are we outsourcing discipline to pharmaceuticals? The second explores our dependence on emerging technologies that claim to build new skills while quietly eroding old ones—a process known as de-skillification. The final essay tackles ultra-processed foods and the accusation that eating them is a form of self-poisoning. We’ll examine that claim in a world where food technology, especially for people on GLP-1 medications, promises affordability, convenience, and enhanced nutrition. All three assignments orbit the same theme: technology’s relentless disruption of daily life.

    And speaking of disruption, we need to talk about large language models—ChatGPT, Gemini, Claude, Llama, and whatever else arrives next Tuesday. It’s obvious that students are already using these tools to write and edit their work. Many of you have used them throughout high school; for you, AI isn’t cheating—it’s normal.

    I don’t expect you to avoid these tools. They’re part of being a functioning human in a rapidly changing world. The real question isn’t whether you use them, but how. If you treat them like wish-granting genies spitting out essays on command, you’ll produce communication with all the nuance of an emoji—slick, shallow, and dead on arrival. If you use AI for quick-and-dirty summaries, your brain will soften like a forgotten banana. But if you treat these tools as collaborators—writers’ room partners who help you brainstorm, clarify arguments, test counterarguments, and refine your prose—then you’re not just surviving college, you’re evolving.

    College is where you learn to use tools that shape your professional future. But it’s also where you sharpen the questions that determine how you live: Why am I here? What does it mean to live well? Those aren’t academic abstractions; they’re the spine of adulthood. You can’t separate your ambitions from your identity.

    AI can’t give you a soul. It can’t recall your first heartbreak, your deepest disappointment, or the electricity of a song that arrived at exactly the right moment. But it can help you articulate experience. It can help you think more clearly about who you are, how you plan to work, and how to live with an intact conscience.

    The critical thinking and communication skills we practice in this class exist for that purpose—and always will.

  • Learning to Thread the Needle with ChatGPT

    Learning to Thread the Needle with ChatGPT

    I’ve been using ChatGPT for personal writing, and with my college writing students, for three years now. I don’t see ChatGPT as a savior or a demon, more like something in between. 

    My review of it is mixed. First the good: It’s a great editor. I can use it to polish grammar, syntax, and sentence clarity. I can use it to come up with essay and story titles that are better than my originals. I can find humorous similes that I couldn’t summon on my own. I can use it to help students do similar editing with their writing and teach them how to use the appropriate prompts to get the desired results. 

    Now for some things to watch for: If I’m not careful, I can let it take over my authorial presence so that I lose my writing voice. Usually this is because the prose is overwritten. I have to be careful that I don’t attenuate to this overwritten prose because florid writing pushes the reader away. My goal is to forge a connection, not put a wedge between me and the reader. 

    The other problem is one my students and I talk about all the time: Over time, we get lazier and lazier and expect AI to do the muscle work while we become Non Player Characters.

    Over time, your goal should be to thread the needle: Use ChatGPT to edit for clarity. Avoid it or tell it to do a “light edit” when it starts to overwrite your content and render you a bloviating machine.  

  • Did AI Break Education—Or Did Education Build the Perfect Tool for Its Own Collapse?

    Did AI Break Education—Or Did Education Build the Perfect Tool for Its Own Collapse?

    Argumentative Essay — 1,700 words

    Artificial intelligence has become the student’s quiet collaborator: it drafts essays, outlines arguments, rewrites weak prose, and produces thesis statements on command. Some critics insist this shift is catastrophic. They claim AI doesn’t just save time—it dissolves motivation, short-circuits difficulty, and converts students into passive operators of synthetic thought.

    Others argue AI merely reveals a truth we’ve avoided: education was already transactional, disengaged, and allergic to authentic inquiry. If a five-paragraph essay can be mass-produced by a bot in seconds, perhaps the problem was never the bot.

    Write an argumentative essay in which you take a position on the real source of the crisis.
    Your essay must answer the following question:

    Is AI dismantling human learning, or is AI a symptom of a system already committed to shallow thinking and assessment-by-template?

    To build your case:

    1. Analyze one critic who sees AI as corrosive.
       Choose one of the writers who frames AI as eroding motivation, mastery, identity, or intellectual development.
      Identify the mechanism of harm:
      How does AI damage learning? Where does the breakdown actually occur?
    2. Contrast them with one writer who shifts the blame elsewhere.
       Choose a writer who argues the deeper crisis is structural, cultural, or pedagogical.
      Show how they reframe the problem:
      Is the issue curriculum design? Academic culture? Literacy itself?
    3. Define the threshold.
       Explain when AI becomes a tool that enhances learning versus a crutch that annihilates it.
      Avoid yes/no binaries—demonstrate how context, assignment design, or student agency changes outcomes.
    4. Include a counterargument–rebuttal section.
       Address the strongest argument against your own position, then respond with evidence and reasoning.
      This should not be a token gesture—it should be the opponent you would actually fear.

    Requirements

    • Minimum 4 credible sources (MLA)
    • At least 2 of the writers listed below must appear as central interlocutors
    • Works Cited in MLA format
    • Your essay must argue, not summarize

    Your mission is not to repeat what the authors said but to confront the deeper question:
    What kind of intellectual culture emerges when AI becomes normal—and who is responsible for shaping it?

    List of Suggested Sources

    Critics who argue AI is damaging education

    1. Ashanty Rosario — “I’m a High Schooler. AI Is Demolishing My Education.”
    2. Lila Shroff — “The AI Takeover of Education Is Just Getting Started.”
    3. Damon Beres — “AI Has Broken High School and College.”
    4. Michael Clune — “Colleges Are Preparing to Self-Lobotomize.”

    Writers who reinterpret the crisis

    1. Ian Bogost — “College Students Have Already Changed Forever.”
    2. Tyler Austin Harper — “The Question All Colleges Should Ask Themselves About AI.”
    3. Tyler Austin Harper — “ChatGPT Doesn’t Have to Ruin College.”
    4. John McWhorter — “My Students Use AI. So What?”
  • The Rotator Cuff, the Honda Dealership, and the Human Soul

    The Rotator Cuff, the Honda Dealership, and the Human Soul

    Life has a way of mocking our plans. You stride in with a neat blueprint, and the universe responds by flinging marbles under your feet. My shoulder rehab, for instance, was supposed to be a disciplined, daily ritual: the holy grail of recovering from a torn rotator cuff. Instead, after one enthusiastic session, both shoulders flared with the kind of throbbing soreness reserved for muscles resurrected from the dead (though after walking home from Honda, it occurred to me that my right shoulder soreness is probably the result of a tetanus shot). So much for the doctor’s handouts of broomstick rotations and wall flexions. Today, the new fitness plan is modest: drop off the Honda for service, walk two miles home, and declare that my workout. Tomorrow: to be determined by the whims of my tendons and sore muscles.

    Teaching is no different. I’ve written my entire Spring 2026 curriculum, but then I read about humanities professor Alan Jacobs—our pedagogical monk—who has ditched computers entirely. Students handwrite every assignment in composition books; they read photocopied essays with wide margins, scribbling annotations in ink. According to Jacobs, with screens removed and the “LLM demons” exorcised, students rediscover themselves as human beings. They think again. They care again. I can see the appeal. They’re no longer NPCs feeding essays into the AI maw.

    But then I remembered who I am. I’m not a parchment-and-fountain-pen professor any more than I’m a pure vegan. I am a creature of convenience, pragmatism, and modern constraints. My students live in a world of laptops, apps, and algorithms; teaching them only quills and notebooks would be like handing a medieval knight a lightsaber and insisting he fight with a broomstick. I will honor authenticity another way—through the power of my prompts, the relevance of my themes, and the personal narratives that force students to confront their own thoughts rather than outsource them. My job is to balance the human soul with the tools of the age, not to bury myself—and my students—in nostalgia cosplay.

  • Does AI Destroy or Redefine Learning?

    Does AI Destroy or Redefine Learning?

    Argumentative Essay Prompt: The Effects of AI on Education (1,700 words)

    Artificial intelligence has raised alarm bells in education. Critics argue that students now rely so heavily on AI tools that they are becoming users rather than thinkers—outsourcing curiosity, creativity, and problem-solving to machines. In this view, the classroom is slowly deteriorating into a culture of passivity, distraction, and what some call a form of “communal stupidity.”

    In his Atlantic essay “My Students Use AI. So What?” linguist and educator John McWhorter challenges this narrative. Instead of treating AI as a threat to intelligence, he examines the everyday media consumption of his tween daughters. They spend little time reading traditional books, yet their time online exposes them to sophisticated humor, stylized language, and clever cultural references. Rather than dulling their minds, McWhorter argues, certain forms of media sharpen them—and occasionally reach the level of genuine artistic expression.

    McWhorter anticipates objections. Books demand imagination, concentration, and patience. He does not deny this. But he asks whether we have elevated books into unquestioned sacred objects. Human creativity has always existed in visual, auditory, and performative arts—not exclusively on the printed page.

    Like many educators, McWhorter also acknowledges that schooling must adapt. Just as no teacher today would demand students calculate square roots without a calculator, he recognizes that assigning a formulaic five-paragraph essay invites AI to automate it. Teaching must evolve, not retreat. He concludes that educators and parents must create new forms of engagement that work within the technological environment students actually inhabit.

    Is McWhorter persuasive? In a 1,700-word argumentative essay, defend, refute, or complicate his central claim that AI is not inherently corrosive to thinking, and that education must evolve rather than resist technological realities. Your essay should:
    • Make a clear, debatable thesis about AI’s influence on learning, creativity, and critical thinking.
    • Analyze how McWhorter defines intelligence, skill, and engagement in digital environments.
    • Include a counterargument–rebuttal section in which you address why some technologies may be so disruptive that adapting to them becomes impossible—or whether that fear misunderstands how students actually learn.
    • Use evidence from McWhorter and at least two additional credible sources.
    • Include a Works Cited page in MLA format with at least four sources total.

    Your goal is not to simply summarize McWhorter, but to weigh his claims against reality. Does AI open new modes of literacy, or does it train us into passive consumption? What does responsible adaptation look like, and where do we draw the line between embracing tools and surrendering agency?

    Building Block 1: Introduction Paragraph:

    Write a 300-word paragraph describing a non-book activity—such as a specific YouTube channel, a TikTok creator, an online gaming stream, or a subreddit—that entertains you while also requiring real engagement and intellectual effort. Do not speak in broad generalities; focus on one example. Describe what drew you to that content and what makes it more than passive consumption. If you choose a subreddit, explain how it operates: Do members debate technical details, challenge arguments, post layered memes that reference politics or philosophy, or analyze social behavior that demands you understand context and nuance? If you choose a video or stream, describe how its pacing, humor, visual cues, or language force you to track patterns, notice subtle callbacks, or recognize sarcasm and satire. Show how your brain works to interpret signals, anticipate moves, decode cultural references, or evaluate whether the creator is being sincere, ironic, or manipulative. Explain how this activity cultivates cognitive skills—pattern recognition, strategic thinking, language sensitivity, humor literacy, or cultural analysis—that are not identical to reading but still intellectually substantial. Then connect your experience to John McWhorter’s argument in “My Students Use AI. So What?” by explaining how your engagement challenges the assumption that screen-based media turns young people into passive consumers. McWhorter claims that digital content can sharpen minds by exposing viewers to stylized language, comedic timing, and creative expression; show how your chosen activity illustrates (or complicates) this point. Conclude by reflecting on whether the skills you are developing—whether from decoding layered Reddit discussions or following complex video essays—are simply different from the skills cultivated by books, or whether they offer alternative paths to intelligence that schools and parents should take seriously.

    Building Block 2: Conclusion

    Write a 250-word conclusion in which you step back from your argument and explain what your thesis reveals about the broader social implications of online entertainment. Do not summarize your paper. Instead, reflect on how your analysis has changed the way you think about digital media and your own habits as a viewer, gamer, or participant. Explain how your chosen example—whether a subreddit, a content creator, a gaming channel, or another digital space—demonstrates that online entertainment is not automatically a form of distraction or intellectual decay. Discuss how interacting with this media has trained you to interpret tone, decode humor or irony, follow complex narratives, or understand cultural signals that are easy to miss if you are not paying attention. Then consider what this means for society: If students are learning language, timing, persuasion, and nuance in digital environments, how should teachers, parents, and institutions respond? Should they continue to treat online entertainment as a threat to literacy, or as an alternate path to it? Draw a connection between your growth as a thinker and the larger question of where intelligence is cultivated in the 21st century. End your paragraph with a reflection on how your relationship to digital media has changed: Do you now view certain forms of online entertainment as trivial distractions, or as unexpected arenas where people practice rhetorical agility, cultural awareness, and cognitive skill?