The University had its first big storm of the season over the weekend --Tropical Depression Ernesto. Recently upgraded from Tropical Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder status, Ernie knocked out power for a while to my apartment, which blew (pun obviously intended). I actually had to do homework instead of watch "Matilda" on HBO. Ernesto couldn't stay too long though, as he and other immigrant storms had to leave when their guest-worker visas expired.
As the Ernesto topic was quickly exhausted, I have to switch gears to another subject to fill the remaining lines of this column. It's really easy to write a column all about whining how it's really hard to write a column. It's also easy to write a column using incredibly flowery language, using words like "foibles" and "verisimilitude." What's not easy is to write about something that matters. And what really matters is how much I hate discussion sections.
That's right. Ninety-nine percent of discussions are about as enjoyable as spending an evening watching "Battlefield Earth"* and getting stabbed in the face.
*Apologies to any Scient-hoo-logists.
I'm not sure what it is, but for some reason discussions just don't do it for me. Maybe it's the language barrier. Maybe it's the fact that I have to walk to Fluvanna County to get to half of them. These contribute to my bitterness, but I think the real reason I don't enjoy discussions is that I have to listen to a lot of stupid stuff.
Granted, the vast majority of students in discussions are perfectly normal. They, like me, didn't do the reading, and would rather be watching "Matilda." They come from all walks of life. All races, creeds and ethnicities are given the same opportunity to suffer mercilessly. All the University demographics are there: the Ugg-clad sorority girl, the tracksuit-clad athlete, and the obligatory creepy kid who looks creepier than that guy who didn't kill JonBenet Ramsey.
This last kid stands out like Star Jones at a Jenny Craig center. Usual trademarks are the fanny pack, the wolf-howling-at-the-moon T-shirt, and jorts (jean shorts).
However, in this sea of average discussion-hating students, there is that one kid who feels that it is his right to wax philosophical on whatever the subject matter, often for minutes on end. You all know this person. Whenever he raises a hand, an audible groan is released. Even the TA hates this kid. If I wanted to hear some random guy opine about Medieval poetry or 18th century Sino-Russian relations, I'd listen to the professor.
Are there good things about discussions? Of course. Since I'm a shallow and embittered shell of a person, I enjoy laughing at the stupid stuff that is said by others. I also enjoy vicariously participating in the sweet frat life of dudes fresh from their latest sexual conquest the night before. I can't help but marvel at the standard frat dress code. These guys dress like actors from a 1986 Newport cigarettes advertisement -- popped collars, docksider shoes, aviators, croakies and khaki shorts that are just a little too short.
These guys sit in class reading the IFC newspaper, the Haveabeer Daily, and talk with each other about the frattiest way to draw an X on somebody's hand.
I kid. Frat guys are normal discussion-haters like me. They are also incredibly creative with frat-speak; last week, I heard a one-liner so outstanding that it would have even made Joe Camel himself blush:
"Hey dude. Good seeing you last night. What are your plans for the weekend?"
"I'm not sure yet, dude. I'm probably just going to play it by beer."
Brilliant. That guy should try out for a Life column. If I was an RA, I'd VSOC that kid for being too awesome.
Truth be told, the X-factor in discussions, the one variable that makes or breaks the class, is the TA. Occasionally, the TA is an ex-creepy kid. That discussion always ends up being the worst hour of the week. But most of the time the TAs are genuinely nice people, callously forced by their respective grad schools to jam Euler's Theorem or the Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act of 1930 down our grubby little throats. We should cut them some slack.
So maybe discussions are a little bit enjoyable after all. I have one in an hour, but I gotta finish watching "Matilda" first.
Brendan's column runs bi-weekly on Mondays. He can be reached at collins@cavalierdaily.com.
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