Sunday, 16 May 2004
 Dr. Phillips--
It's been a while since our last exchange, and I'm writing now to thank you for teaching me some valuable lessons in CWRL 112. I know you're busy, and I sense that something is about to happen, so I'll try to keep my letter short.
I thought you might like to know that I'm writing as a reformed student. Because of your class my values have changed significantly: where once I was a "jack-the-lad" who approached his studies with an unwarranted sense of entitlement, I'm now a responsible man who is willing to do whatever he must to "make the grade."
In other words, I have become a meek suppliant, and, fortunately for you, I'm finally ready to accept you, your methodologies, and the merit of your doctorate from Oxford.
But there will always be students who, like my former self, would rather their professors value substance over ostentation. Those students do not—nor should they—have any regard for your presumed status at this university. I suggest that you acknowledge rather than belittle them, and expect as much from them as they do from you. Indeed, if anyone ought to be accused of "preciousness" this quarter, it is you—you, for haughtily and presumptuously dismissing me on the second day of class, for exhibiting some questionable immaturity (or hypocrisy) in ignoring my sincere questions, and, perhaps most tellingly, for having the audacity to assign "Art in Ancient Times"—undoubtedly the most putrid, unfocused excuse for academic writing I have ever read. It is the only book I returned.
I'd read more of the classics, but I'm finding now that my old self is not yet gone, and that despite my best efforts I cannot separate it from my new self. I'm dying on the floor, Dr. Phillips, my siamese mind distended, and my life simply doesn't add up, for all its symmetry until now; the symmetry, I mean, of sitting daily in unlit classrooms and learning little (my thoughts were I don't know where), of walking through the sun-dappled woods in fits of wonderfully contrived self-pity, of looking at those woods newly oriented, at my window-seat, with the light bottoms of thousands of leaves revealing themselves in the wind, and of hearing the television in the next room warn of thunderstorms as I smelled damp wood, the coming rain, a spaghetti dinner, and expected I don't know what.
Wish me well,
Mickey Jefferson |
Richard, I would like to speak with you
Written by Guest on 2004-05-16 21:51:10
You aren't fooling anyone with this article. Please speak with me after class; we have some talking to do with the dean, and probably a psychiatrist.
-Phil | haha
Written by Guest on 2004-05-18 17:16:42
haha | "Main Heading"
Written by Guest on 2004-06-03 09:36:57
Damn, he fooled me! | oy!
Written by Guest on 2004-06-27 23:18:16
that Mickey Jefferson be kayoooooote!!! I said oy so I must be jewish! | Mickey - be careful!
Written by Guest on 2004-06-30 11:24:45
I hope you used a fake name for your prof - he could use google to find himself on the net.....hard to explain with your picture there...
Why don't you go to www.ratemyprofessors.com and give him a rating? I think it's free. |
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