2 Spheres of Learning / Method (preamble)

Today I would like to consider that we are in the full swing of things of the semester. After the initial syllabus readings, question and answer period, and attendance taking, we are all set and ready to go full steam into the schedule. I have already written more than I'm ever going to write about my having a cavalier attitude about life (even though that is/was perhaps one of the greatest ironies I have encountered), but that's what it's all about.

First class this morning is Survey of American Literature. This is an upper level class where we have successfully eliminated the riff raff elements and only the most serious will show up everyday, not to mention participate. We had a very engaging discussion on two short pieces written in the very early days of America (one by Captain John Smith and another by Puritanical minister John Winthrop), establishing the audience in which they were trying to address, the motivating factors, materials in which they drew their conclusions, and discourse, the teacher was obviously pleased and said "Good job everyone!". I left feeling good, thinking that I was going to be equally as pleased with the rest of our time.

The second, I went to another whose future was/wasn't exactly set. When we showed for the first day, our prof did not show. Some exercised the fifteen minute rule, in that they decided if the leader / teacher is more than fifteen minutes later then we are justified in leaving. But I thought I shouldn't be so quick, but after thirty minutes it was clear that no one was coming. We passed around a blank piece of paper, signed our names to it, and someone said they would leave it with the department's office to establish that we were, in fact, here. So I (and many others) showed today not sure what to expect. And then, just as I was about to inquire to a gal who is also in the previous class if she was there for the first day's no show, the door burst open. I will not focus so much on appearance, but if Ichabod Crane from the Sleepy Hollow story (the real one by Washington Irving, not the recent Johnny Depp movie) were a woman, it would be this creation. She charged in like a racehorse being released from the gate and shouted "Who's here for (Class Name)?!?!?!" The person closest to her said "I am" rather meekly, and she let out a sound that was a cross between a cheerleader cry and a frog croak. I clapped my hand onto my forehead and hung my head in a sickly way. Yes, it's going to be one of those ... Ah well, who am I to judge? It just bares repeating. Get ready for more blog materials, it's going to write itself.

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