CHARISMATIC MEGAFAUNA

By Quiconque

Don't get me started
2004-09-10

Autumnal Musings

Because I have been a student for more than 31 years, September, rather than January, has always marked the beginning of the year for me. Like most beginnings, it is a time for reflection and resolutions. Every September I look upon my past failures and promise myself to do better.

�This year I will not cut class. This year I will organize my files. This year I will keep a calendar. This year I will spend more time writing and less time watching TV. This year I will present more work at conferences. This year I will save money. This year I will learn German. This year I will go to London.� Like most resolutions, these are quickly broken and forgotten until the next year rolls around with seemingly ever-increasing frequency.

An acquaintance of mine once said that, in fall, �New York has a stubborn charm that cannot be denied.� Although this person has proven herself an idiot on countless occasions before and since, she was right about this: New York is at its best in autumn.

Concave disbelieves me, but I�ll tell you why. For one, the tourist season is over. Yes, I celebrated the departure of the RNC. But, I am also happy not to have to sidestep any more boxy matrons in fanny packs and ill-fitting pants as they stop and gawk at the Empire State Building.

Speaking of ill-fitting pants, fall clothes are better, too. Flip flops are traded for sleek boots. Tube tops and pink halters make way for turtlenecks and suede jackets. Scarves are back. Belly rolls are covered. Short shorts become trousers.

In the crisp fall air the smell of New York City improves dramatically. My friends and I began to notice in 1996 that every other corner in NYC smells like overripe romano in the summer. Why is that? Romano is not usually served on hot dogs, pretzels, kebabs, or other street-corner food. Who is eating all this cheese, or rather not eating it, but dumping it in the street? The only respite is the vanilla smell from the nut stands. In the autumn the cheese-vanilla shuffle comes happily to an end.

September brings other joys. It allows me to indulge in one of my favorite addictions: new school supplies. Yes, I still believe my grades will suffer if I do not have fine-tip felt pens in a rainbow assortment. Yes, I need sticky-pads both large and small. A paper guillotine is an absolute necessity. Notebooks, binders, looseleaf, pencil sharpeners�these are all purchased and repurchased with maniacal glee. (Having more and more stuff allows me to indulge in another addiction: a trip to Ikea to buy shelving to house it all).

This year, school is different because I am the professor. Thirty undergraduates look to me to explain anthropology to them twice a week. They write down everything I say, even though I repeatedly insist that �the right answer� is elusive. I may act like a know-it-all, but I do not know it all, at all. The first year students are especially tender, asking permission to miss class because of job interviews, bouts of scabies, and broken legs.

As some of you may remember, I am teaching at a public college, one where the students� parents do not �pay a lot of money.� Since that evil interview, I have been comparing my class to what I know about students at the private university, and I am happy to report that my students are just as driven, energetic, and committed to the work as any student at FU. They are excited by the material. I was afraid that many would flee after the first session when they saw my 10-page reading list. No one dropped the class. In fact, I picked up 5 more students.

My students are a diverse bunch, something I would have been less likely to find at FU. Some are teenaged, some are older than I am. Some are single, some are married. Some walk, some roll, and some use a crutch. Many are parents, one is currently pregnant. Only two are male, or, given the topic of my course, ostensibly male. I am pleased with this group, and proud to teach them. Autumn brings good things.


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