I had intended to respond to the thread about what teaching is, possibly re-iterating the observation that our most important task is to encourage curiosity and the discipline to pursue that curiosity. A student who emerges from college with the ability to identify two differences between forms of say carbon composites is probably ready to work for Rolls Royce. Her life will be more rewarding if she says to herself, on her own time, "Self, I wonder why..." and then looks it up or thinks it through.
I had also intended to respond to Robert's comment that, "Some people mistakenly think that Reed is like Evergreen. It isn't, save for their both being in the Pacific Northwest." The two institutions have a little bit of overlapping history. Here's a local historian on the subject, "The Reed trustees' capitulation to McCarthyism is fully detailed in my piece in the Fall, 1996, Oregon Historical Quarterly. I know that some Reed faculty went to Evergreen, including Byron Youtz who I think was president there, but that may have been less because of the 1954 debacle and more likely much later in the 60s when (as a recent Reed magazine article spells out) the struggle was between traditional old Reed classical curriculum defenders against the young anti- 'old white men' faction who lost." In other words, the two institutions are un-alike because they are partly defined by an ideological or pedagogical split.
But instead of typing these thoughts out, I have been laid up. We here are all sick, one way or another. J. is recovering somewhat from mono, though a half a day is about all she does. Ditto moi en ce moment; a really nasty cold. What L. has--thick glands, not much upper head gunk (UHG)--is not clear. We should get "House" onto the probem. E. in California probably has a version of this illness, courtesy of a visit from Mum, but her predicament is nothing compared to that of her Chinese roommate, who has been told that she'll be kept in quarantine for two weeks when she flies home at the end of the semester.
On Saturday I was awakened in mid afternoon by a storm. It was really too intense to be called simply a storm. From mid sleep, up I surfaced, to find the world drowned by whirling rain, thunder and crash and lightning. I wondered, briefly and in a kind of a protestant manner, what sin I'd committed, and then went to see if the balcony drain was still working--it gets stuffed with Douglas Fir bits and may one day overflow into our bedroom. That drain situation cries out for a remedy; no doubt a committee will soon be formed to look into it. Lest you think I am describing some normal weather event, I'll add that yesterday's newspaper says one person was killed while driving on a normal road a few miles away--a tree fell on his car-- and a good portion of the county went without power. Very intense indeed, fifty or more mile per hour winds, but lasting only about ten minutes.
No doubt global warming will be blamed.Meanwhile, I had my mid-life crisis, which also lasted about fifteen minutes. I can't even explain how I came to be looking in the first place; I just happened to type "Alfa Romeo" at the wrong moment into e bay and so bid on a vehicle. The bidding did not reach the fellow's reserve price. So afterwards I wrote, and he replied, and we checked each other out and eventually agreed on a course of action via cell phone call. I hope I have implied how weird and strange it is to go through life a careful buyer of everything, a market researcher par excellence, a lifetime subscriber to "Consumer Reports," a thrift store habitué (did I mention getting a Burberry jacket for five dollars?) and then suddenly to buy a car, sight unseen, from someone in another state? Madness. Complete madness. I do not, however, blame the cold, or any anti-histamines I may have taken. This comes from deep within my desires and if I have bought a crummy rust bucket with busted camshaft, so be it; what I wanted was the dream, not of speed, but of Alfa Romeo-ness, whatever form that turns out to take. I only know it's red.
I went to confess this attack of nonsense to my wife and found her talking with a woman whose husband has changed into a woman. He/she, it turns out, is also fond of cars, and has a collection. I've never met him/her so I can't tell you anything about the change of gender, but it clearly makes the wife's position hard; she did not fall in love with a woman and therefore wants to find a different mate. At present they still live together. The world is not always a straightforward place. This you may have heard?
People keep asking me what plans I have made to travel and where I'll be during my sabbatical. Currently my event horizon is about two weeks out. Then, with a little luck, as proof that humans may be trusted, a red car in fine fettle will arrive on my doorstep and I'll be quite ready to discuss what takes your fancy. Until then, theses.
Carry on. David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html
