Dear Dr. Palmitessa,
It has been five years since I took your European Witch Hunt class at Western Michigan University, which I'm sure you know is half a decade. In the grand scheme of history, that is not a very long time, but let us put those five years into some perspective. I have lived a fifth of my life since I took your class. Between the end of that course and now, I have studied for a year in London, finished two Bachelor's degrees, and moved across the country. If we are considering my personal history, it is as though thousands of years have past.
And yet, I am still royally pissed off at you. Your class was named "European Witch Hunt". It should have been AWESOME, even for someone who isn't as interested in history as I am. In fact, I am pretty sure there were a few poor souls in that class who were not that into history and just wanted to tell their friends that their gen-ed was about witches. Don't get me wrong. I knew going into it that this was not going to be about spells and potions. I was not looking for an in-depth study of witchCRAFT. Having been obsessed with the Salem Witch Trials in elementary school (I was secretly a very morbid child), I was ready for all things witchHUNT. I was ready for you to BRING IT ON. In a purely historical manner, of course.
Well, you did NOT "bring it". At no time was it "brought". Firstly, this was a 400 level history class (which I was taking as a sophomore ::hair flip::) and yet you found it necessary to spend a majority of the class going over the Reformation. Yes, it was pertinent to the subject on hand, but guess what? The Reformation is pertinent to many subjects in history, and any schmuck who has made it to a 400 level university history course knows about it. Don't lecture every class for six weeks about the Reformation, just spend two days on brush up and then start talking about witch hunts! Of course the two were related, but then we should have been spending brain power on how they were related. Did you not have enough information to fill up a semester? I think this must have been the case, because we also watched movies, and I don't mean documentaries. Now, if this class had been titled "How the European Witch Hunt Has Been Portrayed in (quasi-) Modern Media," I could probably let it slide. And the "quasi" is in there because these were Hollywood films from the '70's and '80's. Heck, that sounds like a great class. Why didn't I sign up for that? Also, we spent a lot of the end of the semester on "personal research time", which meant I could get my work done, but that's not why I'm paying you. I'm paying you to inspire/scare me into doing research on my own time. I guess technically I wasn't paying you, seeing as I had my scholarship, but everyone else in the class was.
So, I'm pretty sure you didn't have enough material for a semester, but you could have done a better job making the information you did have EPIC. Somehow, you managed to make the European witch hunts boring. It is people like you who give history a bad name. YOU, sir. I understand that history can be a bit dry, especially when reading journal articles that are written by scholars who don't realize that someone may one day want to learn from their publishings. I get that plowing though primary documents from the 13th century can be a headache. It seems to follow, at least to me, that history in the classroom should be wicked fun so that everything breaks even. EUROPEAN WITCH HUNTS. How many times do I have to say it? And it was a small class. There is so much more that can be done in a small group setting that could never fly in a lecture hall. What are these fun things? I don't know, it's not my job. But there must be something. And it doesn't take much for me to get excited over academics. You should have seen me in Logic. Front row, every class, practically seizing over how much I loved doing proofs. Or Latin. Or when I took History of Women in the US South and turned a cotton ball into 22 feet of thread. I get into learning, and you gave me nothing to work with.
And I tried. I was really excited about this class, and that seemed to bother you. I (for a while) actually read the assigned books and articles. I came to class ready to discuss and share and learn with my peers. You stopped calling on me when I raised my hand. Just because I was the only one who ever talked. Do you know how annoying it is to be told you can no longer answer questions and then have to sit in silence as no one else responds. Sure, if there were other people willing to participate I would (grudgingly) allow them their turn. But no one ever did. Waiting in silence is a waste of time. If the other students don't want to read and discuss, then why not let them coast by? It's their loss, and if you don't care enough to make the subject interesting, then why would you care if they answer questions? Just let me answer so that we can all get on with our lives.
Now, as the perpetual optimist that I am, I will note a few things that I did enjoy about your class. There was no final paper, which is always a plus. This may have been because you had no motivation to read and grade 17 ten page papers, but I'm not going to ask too many questions. No paper is fine by me. Also, you brought donuts one day. I really like donuts and I love free donuts. Check plus on that one.
One more thing. You loved the French and hated the British. I learned this only after the class was either over or almost over. I had been showing up at least once a week in my Union Jack zip-up.
Just a recap. You somehow managed to ruin The European Witch Hunt. The class. Not the actual historical occurrence. That would give you too much credit.
That is all,
E. G. Fritsch
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Tagalongs
Cookies are very important. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
In the world of Girl Scout Cookies, there are really only two kinds that actually matter. Tagalongs and Thin Mints. There are a few out there who also pay homage at the purple altar of the Samoa, but I don't think those people have souls. Coconut is an abomination. I'm pretty sure it's a texture thing. A texture and horrible taste thing. Certainly we can all agree that these three varieties evoke the strongest response in the general population. I was going to point out that this is probably because these three flavors come in boxes that are the secondary colors, but when I turned up my lights all the way, it looked like my Tagalong box was more red than orange, which is too bad.
Back to the cookies. I grew up knowing only my mom's cookies. These are undeniably the best cookies in the world and the only reason I had friends growing up. As such, we had an unwritten law in my house that banned all commercially made cookies from crossing the threshold. Oreos are not cookies. They make great dirt cups and are welcome as a garnish, but they are not cookies. The exceptions to this rule were Girl Scout Cookies and the cookies from the Meijer bakery. I don't think we ever bought the Meijer cookies, but it was acknowledged that they tasted good. Oh. And the no-bake cookies from the bakery in Pigeon, Michigan. But we're going to count those as homemade and a class of all their own. Nothing as good as those cookies has ever been even thought of. You could tell me that they are made out of lard (which they might be), and I would simply ask for another one. And although these are not large cookies, I don't think I've ever seen a person eat an entire Pigeon no-bake in one go. Such an action is shunned. There are a limited number of no-bakes at any given time, and it is every person's duty to make them last as long as humanly possible. You don't know when you'll see one again. What you do know is exactly how many parts of a no-bake you, and everyone else, has consumed. Food of the gods.
This was supposed to be about Girl Scout Cookies. The point is that cookies are more of a delicacy than something you mindlessly snack on. Each cookie is an experience. It takes forever to eat a cookie. Now, Thin Mints, though very yummy, are not very exciting. I think they may be one of the only kinds of cookies where I can polish a few off without much thought. You stick them in the freezer, you take them out of the freezer, and you try not to scarf through a whole sleeve in one go. They're thin (hence the name), they kind of crumble if you try to break them, and they're not very complex. Still good. But the Tagalong. First of all, you only get 15 to start with, and if Dad gets to them before you, you are screwed. So you have to make them last. You have to savor them. Personally, I like to deconstruct food that probably should be eaten whole. This includes foods such as soft tacos from Taco Bell, swiss cake rolls, and Ferrero Rocher chocolates, just to name a few. It also includes Tagalongs. I am a firm believer that the parts are greater than the sum of its whole, and therefor a Tagalong should be consumed chocolate, peanut butter, and then cookie in order to be truly enjoyed. That's my view of the matter.
In the world of Girl Scout Cookies, there are really only two kinds that actually matter. Tagalongs and Thin Mints. There are a few out there who also pay homage at the purple altar of the Samoa, but I don't think those people have souls. Coconut is an abomination. I'm pretty sure it's a texture thing. A texture and horrible taste thing. Certainly we can all agree that these three varieties evoke the strongest response in the general population. I was going to point out that this is probably because these three flavors come in boxes that are the secondary colors, but when I turned up my lights all the way, it looked like my Tagalong box was more red than orange, which is too bad.
Back to the cookies. I grew up knowing only my mom's cookies. These are undeniably the best cookies in the world and the only reason I had friends growing up. As such, we had an unwritten law in my house that banned all commercially made cookies from crossing the threshold. Oreos are not cookies. They make great dirt cups and are welcome as a garnish, but they are not cookies. The exceptions to this rule were Girl Scout Cookies and the cookies from the Meijer bakery. I don't think we ever bought the Meijer cookies, but it was acknowledged that they tasted good. Oh. And the no-bake cookies from the bakery in Pigeon, Michigan. But we're going to count those as homemade and a class of all their own. Nothing as good as those cookies has ever been even thought of. You could tell me that they are made out of lard (which they might be), and I would simply ask for another one. And although these are not large cookies, I don't think I've ever seen a person eat an entire Pigeon no-bake in one go. Such an action is shunned. There are a limited number of no-bakes at any given time, and it is every person's duty to make them last as long as humanly possible. You don't know when you'll see one again. What you do know is exactly how many parts of a no-bake you, and everyone else, has consumed. Food of the gods.
This was supposed to be about Girl Scout Cookies. The point is that cookies are more of a delicacy than something you mindlessly snack on. Each cookie is an experience. It takes forever to eat a cookie. Now, Thin Mints, though very yummy, are not very exciting. I think they may be one of the only kinds of cookies where I can polish a few off without much thought. You stick them in the freezer, you take them out of the freezer, and you try not to scarf through a whole sleeve in one go. They're thin (hence the name), they kind of crumble if you try to break them, and they're not very complex. Still good. But the Tagalong. First of all, you only get 15 to start with, and if Dad gets to them before you, you are screwed. So you have to make them last. You have to savor them. Personally, I like to deconstruct food that probably should be eaten whole. This includes foods such as soft tacos from Taco Bell, swiss cake rolls, and Ferrero Rocher chocolates, just to name a few. It also includes Tagalongs. I am a firm believer that the parts are greater than the sum of its whole, and therefor a Tagalong should be consumed chocolate, peanut butter, and then cookie in order to be truly enjoyed. That's my view of the matter.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Eye Contact
And how it relates to strangers.
People are always telling me that making eye contact is a dying art, mostly because the most popular means of communication are trending toward the electronic. This is why actors will someday take over the world. We all were learning how to be human in our college classes while the business majors were learning how to write emails. I'm pretty sure these statements have to do with eye contact between friends/co-workers/acquaintances/the girl who gives you your coffee at Starbucks. Of course, eye contact between these types is important and expected, but that's not what I'm talking about.
I want to be able to look at/make eye contact with random strangers on the street without being forced to look away. Actually, I want to be able to openly stare at anyone I please while in a public space without feeling awkward or creepy if I'm caught looking. People are interesting. I want to look at them. And not just if it's sunny. I usually hate the sun (it burns), but the blazing rays give me an excuse to don my awesome, reflectively lensed sunglasses. These sunglasses allow me to look, at length, at the person walking toward me. As long as I don't obviously move my head, I am free to admire, judge, or just take in my fellow human beings. But I want to move my head. I want to look over at the person across the street if she has fantastic shoes. I want to stare at the guy with the ridiculous mustache. And why not? When did looking at one another become rude? Don't you want me to look at your fine fashion choices or your well-groomed facial hair?
It's something I'm working on. Instead of reflexively turning my head away when someone makes eye contact with me, I try to meet their gaze. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes the other person looks freaked out. I'm not quite sure why; I am not intimidating. If I were big, drunk, scary man following you home, then yes, you have my permission to be freaked out. But I'm talking about broad daylight (but not bright enough for sunglasses). It's just ingrained in us. We're told it's rude to stare. I'm not talking about gawking, or changing pace or direction. I am not telling everyone to go out and stand by as a harassed mother is trying to counteract her toddler's melt down, or slow down to watch a couple fight outside a restaurant. I just want to people watch. Without that awkward "I'm looking at you and now you're looking at me and we just caught each others' eyes but we're both going to pretend we didn't and look away" thing. Maybe I'm just trying to imagine what you looked like when you were nine, maybe you have funny colored hair, maybe I'm wondering why you're wearing white socks. This is what I do. It's not rude. You will know if I'm intending to be rude.
People are always telling me that making eye contact is a dying art, mostly because the most popular means of communication are trending toward the electronic. This is why actors will someday take over the world. We all were learning how to be human in our college classes while the business majors were learning how to write emails. I'm pretty sure these statements have to do with eye contact between friends/co-workers/acquaintances/the girl who gives you your coffee at Starbucks. Of course, eye contact between these types is important and expected, but that's not what I'm talking about.
I want to be able to look at/make eye contact with random strangers on the street without being forced to look away. Actually, I want to be able to openly stare at anyone I please while in a public space without feeling awkward or creepy if I'm caught looking. People are interesting. I want to look at them. And not just if it's sunny. I usually hate the sun (it burns), but the blazing rays give me an excuse to don my awesome, reflectively lensed sunglasses. These sunglasses allow me to look, at length, at the person walking toward me. As long as I don't obviously move my head, I am free to admire, judge, or just take in my fellow human beings. But I want to move my head. I want to look over at the person across the street if she has fantastic shoes. I want to stare at the guy with the ridiculous mustache. And why not? When did looking at one another become rude? Don't you want me to look at your fine fashion choices or your well-groomed facial hair?
It's something I'm working on. Instead of reflexively turning my head away when someone makes eye contact with me, I try to meet their gaze. Sometimes I smile. Sometimes the other person looks freaked out. I'm not quite sure why; I am not intimidating. If I were big, drunk, scary man following you home, then yes, you have my permission to be freaked out. But I'm talking about broad daylight (but not bright enough for sunglasses). It's just ingrained in us. We're told it's rude to stare. I'm not talking about gawking, or changing pace or direction. I am not telling everyone to go out and stand by as a harassed mother is trying to counteract her toddler's melt down, or slow down to watch a couple fight outside a restaurant. I just want to people watch. Without that awkward "I'm looking at you and now you're looking at me and we just caught each others' eyes but we're both going to pretend we didn't and look away" thing. Maybe I'm just trying to imagine what you looked like when you were nine, maybe you have funny colored hair, maybe I'm wondering why you're wearing white socks. This is what I do. It's not rude. You will know if I'm intending to be rude.
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