In particular, there was a comic book and graphic novel course, where we we had to go online and bring up some interesting points we found while reading, then our professor would pick some out to talk about in class. We had to have a minimum of two posts, and the discussion boards would be up a week or two in advance, so I would read a little ahead and get assignments done beforehand, leaving me time for blog surfing and reading Joan Smith*.
There were also days when our professor would say something like, "I noticed that there was a big argument on the message boards over whether the hero was acting selfishly," and that would get the class in an uproar until my professor would get everyone settled down.
"Yes, but someone was really adamant on the boards about this character having a selfish motivation for trying to save his brother," he pointed out after the class quieted. "I can't remember who. Was it any of you?"
We all looked around at one another, me included, seeing if anyone would speak up.
My professor scratched his head. "I try to get you guys talking and look what happens," he joked. "This is a safe environment," he promised, but no one said anything. I started to have a sneaking suspicion. "Okay. Well, maybe that person's not here today," he said, opening up his comic book. "Let's just--"
"Hey!" We all turned to this girl with really thick rimmed glasses sitting at the edge of the wall. She had her smart phone out and scrolled through quickly. "I have it here," she promised, reading. "It was someone named Georgette?" She looked up in search.
Now in college classes, you can sometimes go on without really knowing someone's name. You can have an entire argument over literature, theories, and history without knowing anything about your opponent or even the classmate next to you. Maybe it's because you sometimes just start talking to someone, and it just gets to that point where asking their name would be silly. You already bonded over the material and partnered up before when impromptu partners were needed. Knowing each other's names should already be established by that point.
Once, I bonded with a girl over our love of Jane Eyre, and when I told her that I would find her on Facebook, I had to retract and ask her to spell out her name on a piece of paper for me, because despite the six weeks we've been talking, I never had to say her name. I mean, she sat right next to me. I only had to turn to face her.
In this particular instance, I contemplated pretending that it wasn't me. Clearly thick rims didn't know I was me and I sat two rows away from her, and clearly other people didn't know who I was, because there wasn't any pointing.
But of course, my body's natural reaction to blush immediately highlighted me perfectly in the sea of faces, and my professor already knew me too. He looked at me smiling. "Georgette," he said, stifling a laugh. "You're just trying to kill discussion, aren't you?"
I blushed harder and tried to sink in my seat further. I actually liked this professor, not so much the class because it felt like everyone attacked you when you had a differing opinion on The Watchmen--heaven forbid!--and they always spoke over one another because each person thought that he or she was right. I, of course, usually kept mum, except for the message boards. Oh. I see what he did there. Oh comics professor! You and your participation grades!
I mean, I tried talking once, during our discussion over The Watchmen actually and felt shot down immediately by a few people because apparently reading the graphic novel on my Kindle was a slander on how it should've been read. I can see their point there, but it was ten dollars cheaper! Ever since then, I generally just went with the flow of active discussion, mocking a few of the exuberant ones, the ones who talked more out of their other ends than their mouths that is.
So during this discussion, when all eyes, mainly deathly eyes, became trained on me, I panicked. I shot a pleading look at my professor, who gave me an encouraging smile. This really did nothing against the boiling wrath I felt coming from my classmates. I shrunk further.
"I just thought that he was selfish because he wanted to get a promotion," I mumbled, my mind racing to the week or so ago to what I must've written on the discussion boards. I couldn't think of it. "Saving his brother was just a small factor," I finished lamely.
My professor nodded along, a little pitifully, and he looked at the class at large for more opinion. The bombastic red head in the back picked me apart nicely. Well, I guess he did it nicely at least.
Later that evening, I got an e-mail from my professor saying he was just joking with me in class. I wrote back saying that I understood. It was penance for forgetting what I wrote. He wrote back no, no it wasn't.
There were also days when our professor would say something like, "I noticed that there was a big argument on the message boards over whether the hero was acting selfishly," and that would get the class in an uproar until my professor would get everyone settled down.
"Yes, but someone was really adamant on the boards about this character having a selfish motivation for trying to save his brother," he pointed out after the class quieted. "I can't remember who. Was it any of you?"
We all looked around at one another, me included, seeing if anyone would speak up.
My professor scratched his head. "I try to get you guys talking and look what happens," he joked. "This is a safe environment," he promised, but no one said anything. I started to have a sneaking suspicion. "Okay. Well, maybe that person's not here today," he said, opening up his comic book. "Let's just--"
"Hey!" We all turned to this girl with really thick rimmed glasses sitting at the edge of the wall. She had her smart phone out and scrolled through quickly. "I have it here," she promised, reading. "It was someone named Georgette?" She looked up in search.
Now in college classes, you can sometimes go on without really knowing someone's name. You can have an entire argument over literature, theories, and history without knowing anything about your opponent or even the classmate next to you. Maybe it's because you sometimes just start talking to someone, and it just gets to that point where asking their name would be silly. You already bonded over the material and partnered up before when impromptu partners were needed. Knowing each other's names should already be established by that point.
Once, I bonded with a girl over our love of Jane Eyre, and when I told her that I would find her on Facebook, I had to retract and ask her to spell out her name on a piece of paper for me, because despite the six weeks we've been talking, I never had to say her name. I mean, she sat right next to me. I only had to turn to face her.
In this particular instance, I contemplated pretending that it wasn't me. Clearly thick rims didn't know I was me and I sat two rows away from her, and clearly other people didn't know who I was, because there wasn't any pointing.
But of course, my body's natural reaction to blush immediately highlighted me perfectly in the sea of faces, and my professor already knew me too. He looked at me smiling. "Georgette," he said, stifling a laugh. "You're just trying to kill discussion, aren't you?"
I blushed harder and tried to sink in my seat further. I actually liked this professor, not so much the class because it felt like everyone attacked you when you had a differing opinion on The Watchmen--heaven forbid!--and they always spoke over one another because each person thought that he or she was right. I, of course, usually kept mum, except for the message boards. Oh. I see what he did there. Oh comics professor! You and your participation grades!
I mean, I tried talking once, during our discussion over The Watchmen actually and felt shot down immediately by a few people because apparently reading the graphic novel on my Kindle was a slander on how it should've been read. I can see their point there, but it was ten dollars cheaper! Ever since then, I generally just went with the flow of active discussion, mocking a few of the exuberant ones, the ones who talked more out of their other ends than their mouths that is.
So during this discussion, when all eyes, mainly deathly eyes, became trained on me, I panicked. I shot a pleading look at my professor, who gave me an encouraging smile. This really did nothing against the boiling wrath I felt coming from my classmates. I shrunk further.
"I just thought that he was selfish because he wanted to get a promotion," I mumbled, my mind racing to the week or so ago to what I must've written on the discussion boards. I couldn't think of it. "Saving his brother was just a small factor," I finished lamely.
My professor nodded along, a little pitifully, and he looked at the class at large for more opinion. The bombastic red head in the back picked me apart nicely. Well, I guess he did it nicely at least.
Later that evening, I got an e-mail from my professor saying he was just joking with me in class. I wrote back saying that I understood. It was penance for forgetting what I wrote. He wrote back no, no it wasn't.
*I was a wild child in college.