When I was at the University of the Arts, I got a C- in Freshman Literature because I called a teacher's teaching style in to question?
At UArts Liberal Arts classes were integrated with the other majors (Dance, Painting, Music, Glass Blowing [yes that was a major]). Freshman year at UArts, as in many Colleges and Universities, all students were required to take an Intro to Lit class (or something like that). My Intro class was held in the late afternoon on Mondays and by that time I was completely spent. I can't remember the actual breakdown of a usual day as a UArts freshman, but I believed it consisted of 2 classes a day, each 1.5-3 hours long. So you can image, after a 3 hour 3-D class, the last thing you wanted to do was sit in a lecture about some book you didn't read because you were up all night drawing perfect circles for your morning class (yes, that was an actual assignment. I am proud to say I can still draw almost perfect circle freehand). So afternoon Intro to Literature totally sucked balls.
I had a very soft spoken woman as a Lit Professor who like to set the torch lamps to, what I like to call, 'Sexy Lighting' for the class. Each week we would sit at a giant square table and discuss our assignments. Most of the time I would try to position myself at the farthest corner as not to be a easy target for questioning on anything. I figured since those acting majors were so chatty let them be her targets.
The first day of class the Prof handed us our syllabus with a list of required reading. I only recall 2 books, In the Shadows (not sure if that is the right name but it's close) by a Japanese dramatist and our semester long assignment, Ned Rorem: Knowing When to Stop: A Memoir. I knew from the first minute I saw that hefty Memoir that there was no way in hell (or earth) that I was going to finish that book. It was some where around, well I don't know how many pages it had, but according it
Amazon.com it weighs 2 fucking pounds.
So each night aside from our regular reading homework, we had to somehow fit this tubby bastard into our already hefty schedule.
The Professor didn't give us any background information on Rorem; never played any of his music, or showed us any of his Operas. Just "Here. Read this book, and write a paper when you are done." What the fuck.
Well I gave it a good go. I had to have gotten 3 chapters in before I threw my hands up in disgust. It was an asinine story to read. This man did nothing but drop names of people without explaining who they are, what they did, or how they related to him. I am seriously. I can remember it vividly. There was one full page with nothing more than names of his friends. Name after name after name…after name. At that point I knew I wasn't even going to attempt to finish this book. What was the point? To write a silly little paper? You know how many papers I wrote in High School without reading a book? So I came up with strategy: ace all of my other assignments, take a lower grade on the final paper, and I should be golden.
Well my plan (kind of) worked. I aced all of my papers; I attended and participated every class, and was able to fudge my way through my final paper. God love the Internet, right?
On the last day of class she handed back our papers and there on the top of my crisp white laser paper was a giant, red D. I wasn't surprised. I knew that most of the content in that paper was based on my assumption of what the book was about.
The Professor decided to hold a little Q&A on our required reading book. I remained silent. After getting a D on the paper I figured I didn't want to give away the fact that I did not finish the book. Not many people were participating. I was becoming uncomfortable. I decided to speak up. I remember being very bold and just admitting right away that I didn't even bother reading the book and that I thought it was a terrible book. I told the class that I would never have read this book on my own nor did I want to waste my precious end of the semester time reading it when I had all of my art classes to get squared away. After all I had to draw a perfect circle and square. The Professor sat there pensively and looked me in the eyes. She said defiantly,” So you only read biographies and autobiographies of people you know?"
I had to hold back the laughter that was building inside of me.
"Yes, of course I only read bios of people I know. What's the purpose of learning more about a person you are not interested in? People read biographies to find out more information about a subject that intrigues them. I want to read about people and events that I already have found interesting and am anxious to know more about it. Not this person. I gave the book a shot. I read a few chapters and felt I really don't care if this man lives or dies.
You [the professor] could have introduced him to us, by talking about him, explaining to us why we were reading it. Telling us it's part of the curriculum is not enough for me. Hell, you could have played some of his music for us or shown us some of his Operas. This way there is something for us to connect to while we are reading. Instead you throw us a 500+ book to read and move on to some other piece of literature." *
The Professor looked aghast! If I were sitting any closer to her I think she may have hit me. But it was the truth.
Later on when I received my report card, I noticed a C- for Literature. I didn't question it or complain. I didn't even care that much. I said what was on my mind and was glad that I did it. I still love this story and laugh every time I think of it. It wasn't my first C- nor was it my last, but it certainly was my favorite.
Your Daily Barista
* Not necessarily verbatim but it is pretty damn close.
Not sure why Popi named him Biff (after Biff in Death of a Salesman,) but it sure does make me laugh.Many moons ago, native Philadelphian, author, all around inventing bad ass Ben Franklin, had one of those "ahead of his time ideas" (Just like me. My Slanket: A Blanket with Sleeves idea preceded the Snuggie by mere weeks) came up with a satire about the French government taxing shutter use forcing the Frenchies get up earlier. You know to cash in on some sunshine.
