Feeling Awful Lucky

This was the first day of classes for spring quarter. By a sort of conscious decision on my part, and also the result of the world out to get me, I did not preregister for classes. I decided I would pink slip my way into the classes I wanted to take the first week, and as a result, I now have all my classes.

Except for one. 19th Century Art.

This is a 15500 survey course. Not a super advanced level class, but one that I am missing to complete my major and, as luck would have it, one that would introduce my BA topic to me, and I NEED TO TAKE IT. Along with what seems to be 17834 other students.

I showed up to class at 2:20, meeting and greeting the students I already knew, and walked into class with Dan. And with 17832 other students.

We sat through the beginning of class listening to logistics and how not everyone could take the class, since at the moment there were only 2 discussion sections open that couldn't be over 25 students each, because then it would morph into a lecture session. And then we started lecture.

I've realized a while ago that Art History majors are vicious people. Example: Britch. You all might not be familiar with her, but I know her more than I want. Most of them are two faced and wicked. Only in it for themselves. And they are ALL out to get me. During class, there was one particular girl who, had she said a few more things, I would have climbed over a few rows and personally taped her mouth shut.

The professor began by discussing the differences between industrial canvases and canvases before the 1860s and while the professor was getting into the finer details of differences, this particular student raised her hand and launched into an explanation that the teacher herself was outlining. Why? I have no clue. But her explanation was long enough for me to turn around and roll my eyes at Dan, who was sitting there was his jaw to the ground as well.

Next, the girl asked what ochre was. As in ochre, the color.

After class, the teacher was rushed with a sea of people waving pink slips and promising first borns if they could only get into the class, along with this girl. After the teacher asked how many of us were Art History majors, this girl, this 2nd year girl, raised her hand saying that she was an Art History major, she just had to declare, and that she was so sorry that she asked such a dumb question in class. What was ochre. What was she thinking? She TOTALLY knew what ochre was, she was certainly smarter than that, and oh my God, she is totally sorry she asked her what ochre is.

Whatever. I am a big fan of a person owning up to being a dumbass, but I am an even bigger fan of not announcing in front of his peers that he totally knew the answer, and that he's so much smarter than that. You asked a dumb question, MOVE ON. This key life skill was taught to me in Geometry, 9th grade, when Mr. Rose would sarcastically inquire what color and orange was or stand up on top of his desk and jump around on it after I asked some of my questions. This taught me what questions to ask, what questions not to ask, and also, if you happen to ask how many sides a triangle has the teacher will like you more if you keep your composure and simply dodge the desk he flings at you while he screams out the answer.

So anyway, then the girl went on to say how sorry she was that there were so many people vying for the class, and that she felt SO BAD for the professor, and really, the professor looked like she needed a hug. A hug? She JUST MET the professor, and I'm sure that she could handle the pressure of a few dozen Art History majors breathing down her neck and threatening to follow her home with sharpened machetes if she didn't let them into her class.

Which brings me to my final point: I am so happy with the students my year majoring in Art History. I took an Art History class with only Art History majors last quarter, and it was by far the best time I had in a discussion, and I met some really nice people. Completely unpretentious and willing to help each other out with suggestions or just laughing at dumb jokes and offering to scratch your back where you can't reach. This was also pointed out by a 4th year majoring in Art History this year that really, we're just a bunch of nice people. We are not burdened with the knowledge that we are indeed the best people walking the world because we just NATURALLY assume this and go about our own business helping each other out, since we are confident that no one can surpass us, even after we kindly bestow another competitor with our invaluable advice.

Which is why I am sure I will get into this 19th century art class over this girl. Because I'm just better than her. And I mean this in a completely unpretentious and modest way.