That's me, back to school and loving it.
There are three things I swore I’d never do again.
The first two, I can’t tell you about because the police in Sarasota County are probably still looking for me and I don’t want to get caught. I believe prison would be bad for my self-esteem.
But the third thing I thought I’d never do again is return to college.
I first attended college from 1977 to 1981. Like many young men of my generation—perhaps every generation—I went mainly to drink beer, meet girls and put off growing up as long as possible.
Education was also important, but I wasn’t a model student. I studied fairly hard, but didn’t even try to get perfect grades. I attended the classes I liked, but skipped a lot of the ones I didn’t. I missed so many sessions of one particular English class that I still occasionally wake up at night worrying about whether I have an assignment due.
Perhaps I do.
I honestly can’t remember.
When I did study, it was to earn a degree in Technical Journalism. Technically, I’m not even sure what that means. I’ve never met a journalist who was capable of using a calculator reliably, let alone being technical; most of us are generalists, which means we know a little about a lot—enough to chitchat about philosophy or physics over cocktails, but not enough to speak authoritatively about anything except the weather outside or our own work.
We tend to be fiercely proud of that skill, just like trivia buff Ken Jennings is proud of winning more money on Jeopardy! than any other contestant in the show’s long history—$3,022,700 in all.
But the truth is that most journalists are either unwilling or incapable of attending to one subject long enough to truly understand it. Perhaps that’s why, as a group, we often behave more like a classroom full of ADHD kids who forgot to take their Ritalin than “professionals.”
It might also have something to do with how journalism school—or J-school, as we call it—works. Because most of us have the attention span of kindergartners waiting for cupcakes, J-school students are encouraged to sample liberal arts programs liberally.
So I actually accumulated more college credits in both English and philosophy than I did in journalism.
English was easy and fun for me. I like to read, writing’s usually not a chore, and I’d rather express my reactions to Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls than explore the method of fluxions any day. Truth is, I wouldn’t recognize a fluxion if it fell out of a tree and hit me on the head, let alone know how to calculate its mass.
Hmmm. Did I miss an assignment? I can't remember. Hmmm.
Philosophy was fun, too. Philosophy is the systematic study of lofty subjects like existence, knowledge, values, reason, mind, and language. I like it because you can’t be proven wrong—you can only be argued with, and I’m good at arguing. You’ve never really had fun until you get rip-roaring drunk at a party with a bunch of nerdy philosophy students and then quarrel about whether Martin Buber was a heretical boob, or, later in the evening when the beer buzz starts to wear off, commiserate about why Søren Kierkegaard was such a sad sack who was always saying things like, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
Fun aside, I almost immediately realized that my appreciation for English and philosophy weren’t going to get me anywhere in life economically, even if it was coupled with a degree in Technical Journalism. So, unlike most J-school students, I spent most of my time in college working at my chosen profession—for the student newspaper, and for any publication anywhere that was willing to pay me to write.
And when I finally graduated Magna Cum Lousy, I vowed to never return to school—not because I didn’t enjoy it, but because it seemed much less useful than the on-the-job experience I got actually working for actual magazines and newspapers. Within weeks of being handed my degree, I landed my first job at a magazine. Then I kept on working at various publications and jobs without a break until last December, when I impulsively (and probably foolishly) quit my job as an editor because I was about to be laid off anyway.
And it was that decision, strangely, that led me back to college, like Rodney Dangerfield in the 1986 film Back to School, except that my version of the story isn’t as funny.
The way I see it, traditional print media like newspapers and magazines are all but dead, killed by the Internet and a general state of illiteracy that seems to be the natural by-product of YouTube and the Xbox. In geeky computer terms, I need to reboot my career—which is running about as well as Windows Vista—and that takes training. Specifically, I’m hoping to get a job as a writer/editor with the U.S. government, and the feds like students. So a few weeks ago I enrolled at the University of Colorado-Denver, where I’m now working toward a graduate certificate in Environmental Policy, Management and Law.
Welcome to college. Here's your academic calendar. Survive this experience, and we'll help you get a job.
It’s strange—and exciting—to be back on campus now that I’m all serious and grown up, and much, much less interested in beer and girls than I once was.
Although I still don’t like tests or finishing assignments, and I’m often tempted to skip class just for old time’s sake, I also still truly enjoy learning. It’s oddly invigorating to lounge around in the student union with the other students and study, although I usually drink soda now instead of beer.
And even though I’m very happily married and not in the market for a date, I’m also pleased to report that I’ve still got “it” where the opposite sex is concerned. Most of the women, including my professor, may be half my age, but my mature good looks and years of accumulated wisdom—however trivial—are apparently so overwhelmingly powerful to them that they can’t bear to talk to me, or look at me, or even to acknowledge that I exist.
But I do.
Because as the philosopher René Descartes once said, “Cogito, ergo sum”—I think, therefore I am. And if you disagree, well, meet me in the student lounge Friday afternoon to discuss it. But be prepared to lose, because I’m relentless in an argument.
P.S. — I’d like to wish a happy 208th birthday to Victor Hugo, the French author who wrote the original screenplay for Disney’s 1996 hit film, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.
Wow! Good for you and I’m glad you are so popular. Don’t let it go to your head.
Ha!
Since you’ve gone back to school you seem to have attracted a whole new class (no pun intended) of commenter. Best of luck…I know it’s not easy.
I’m big in Russia.
И опять об этом. Если поисковики научатся понимать смысл, то блогерам придется поизголяться, чтобы быть читаемыми и не похожими на других.
Dear Readers,
For your convenience, I have translated this comment into English. It reads: “And again about this. If the search engines learn to understand the meaning, the bloggers have poizgolyatsya to be readable and do not like the others.”
Personally, I couldn’t agree more.
MikeWJ
Going back to school is sometimes the smartest thing you can do. And I really like the subjects you’re taking.
I’m studying international law with a minor in political science and management, I’m currently writing my Master’s thesis on the links between human rights and environmental law.
It sounds like you’re really happy with the choice you made, and I can’t help but believe you will get exactly where you want to go. Until you get there, though, I would love to meet you in the student lounge on Friday afternoon for a good philosophic argument, but alas, I doubt that will be happening anytime soon.
Enjoy your time in school, and study well.
Thanks for the encouragement! Sometimes I think that what I’d really like to do is just get paid to go to school full-time for about the next 15-20 years, then retire on a professor’s salary. I don’t suppose they’re going to let me do that, though!
A great choice. My wife and I went back to university when we were in our forties, and we had a gas. Oddly enough, we got along well with the students, and even joined in, and organised many social events with and for them. Now, however, I seem to have become invisible — except to my own students.
Enjoy the ride. Don’t get into fights with the editors of the campus newspapers.
I’ve never been that social, although part of me would like to be. I also believe that you’re relatively cool until you’re about 45 years old, then you cross over some invisible line into just being old and, accordingly, become invisible to anybody younger than about 30.
Our culture tends to disrespect older people, and who can blame it? We’re typically dumping looking, smelly and slow thinking, right? Personally, I think the government(s) ought to force everybody 21 or older to report to “Sleepshops,” where they can be permanently put to rest. Those who resist can be tracked down and killed by “Sandmen,” who will be specially trained in the martial arts and weapons use. To make sure there’s no cheating, everybody will be given a “palm flower” — a crystalline computer chip embedded in the palm of their right hand that changes color every 7 years, then turns black on their final day.
It’s a thought, anyway.
I’m going to send my proposal to the editor of the campus newspaper.
Congratulations. Going back to school as an adult is really an interesting experience. I went back to school at 52 to get my paralegal degree. I found myself getting so annoyed with the “youngsters” who were screwing around in class. Then I remembered that was me at their age.
Curiously, I tend to be the one who screws around in class. I just want to have fun. They’re all about pursuing their careers and finding mates, and they’re deadly serious as a result. Or maybe they’re just bored. Anyway, it’s part of what makes the experience so odd for me.
Note to self: look up the word fluxion.
Going back to school, eh? That is wonderful news. Really. I would like to go back, but this darn thing called cancer keeps getting in my way.
Yes, I’m most definitely looking for a violin today.
Make sure you tune it well, before you begin to play, ok?
Again, congrats on the schooling!
Quirky, you’re onto something with that fluxion thing. It’s a secret, private joke that I wrote to myself and buried in the post for my own amusement, thinking smugly that nobody would get it. But your intuition is extremely good, cancer or not. No violins for you, young lady. Not unless you insist, of course.
I’m pink, therefore I’m spam.
Congratulations on your new school venture. We do get invisible as we age, but that just means we can get away with more mischief. And we can collect cats, if we wish.
Ah, good points, all.
“I missed so many sessions of one particular English class that I still occasionally wake up at night worrying about whether I have an assignment due.”
OMG! Me too! I really do have recurring dreams where I’m in the last part of a college semester, and I keep telling myself I’ve gotta stop skipping class… and there’s always one class that I NEED in order to graduate, and of course that’s the one I’m about to flunk because I never actually attend the class, and…
**panic attack**
And then I wake up and realize it’s all a dream and I’m now a pathetic 40-year-old lady who blogs about fart jokes.
What a relief.
Well, I’d hardly say you’re a lady. (If you’re going to set them up like that, then you can’t blame for knocking them down.)
*gasp*!
Ouch!
sigh.
All you who have admitted to skipping English classes, I’m taking down your names right now and will be giving you special assignments to make up the lost time.
Plus? I want a note from your parents.
Oops! Sorry, Professor Meidere. I meant no disrespect. I’m just a fuckup.