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Here's a tip for professors: When the Gamecocks beat a team they haven't beaten in 12 years, at a place they've never won at, the victory makes a good talking point. It can wake students up.
But oh, no, no, we can't deviate from the syllabus. No talk of sports, or the real world, is allowed.
Recognize this? A professor's giving a PowerPoint presentation and reads the slides word for word, like riding a bike with nothing but training wheels. No deviation is allowed.
Then the day comes when we have to give a presentation. Here it comes:
"Remember guys, nothing is more boring to your audience than reading your slides verbatim. Don't do it, or I'll dock major points."
I want to stand up and scream some wordless profanity at the top of my lungs. You sick bastard.
Some professors try to phone it in. They think their knowledge is enough to sustain life in the classroom; not true. I want Bill Nye, not Albert Einstein. Show me what you have to show me, but do it with some humanity. Don't act like we didn't just beat Tennessee. Be a man. Be a fan. Try to relate it to class.
I hate professors so business-minded and anal about the holy sanctum of the classroom that they run things like a well-oiled funeral. They smirk gamely at a joke but try immediately to make the old switcheroo back to the self-constructed monotony at hand.
Most students try to keep up. Usually, things aren't so bad. But profs should try to keep the engine thrumming.
This is not retaliation for any bad grades I might've gotten. I'm not one of those whiny jerks who screams, "He GAVE me a bad grade!" No matter how boring the class, most students always come away with something.
Want an idea of how good a prof can be? Sign up for History 111 (U.S. history to 1865) and accept no one other than Mark Smith. He made my fall 2004 semester much more enjoyable.
He can spin a good yarn, loves history and can crack a joke with all the dry wit one would expect from a Brit. He's unfailingly polite but not devoid of edge. He's not some fluffy, stuffy windbag.
With advanced warning of substitutes, half the class wouldn't show up. On the last day of class, most of us stood and clapped. I swear. It was like "Mr. Holland's Opus." A round of applause for almost anyone else would be completely undeserved. The room doesn't burst into spontaneous applause for some humorless, player-piano regurgitator.
Yeah, it's butt-kissing. I'll kiss the rosy cheeks of anyone who makes me want to learn.
And then, there's the "other" guy. Let's call him Professor X, for libel's sake. We've all had him.
This guy was great when I had him last year. I'll bet he's completely unaware USC has a football, let alone that we beat a super-trained team of hicks Saturday. He was drier than toast, more serious than a heart attack. He wore the exact same clothes every day. No deviation.
One day, as a buddy of mine walked into class, he tried to crack a joke with Professor X.
"Please take your seat," he said with no trace of a smile. I can think of nothing that would be funnier than tossing a coconut cream pie into his face and watching his reaction.
Bring the world into the classroom, profs. Don't kill students with a soulless PowerPoint ballet.
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