Oberlin Blogs

I have had so many absolutely fantastic professors this year who have inspired me in all sorts of ways.

Or, an open letter to my professors, old and new, on how they've changed my life.

At Oberlin we make stuff, things that last. This place is a factory of ideas, knowledge, art, and music. As it turns out, our annual output is actually quite impressive—and we are committed to sharing it freely with the world.

I took a Comparative American Studies class last semester and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. Just kidding, it was pretty neat.

Also, a seagull.

"So, like, you're on vacation?"

In Oberlin, I think professors are kinda like celebrities. And these are the ones I go goo-goo eyed over.

In which a professor wrestles with time, flirts with an existential crisis, and wins the lottery.

The end of the academic year always brings a sense of loss, a kind of annual attack of empty-nest anxiety. We think about the graduating seniors and heave a sigh. "What are we going to do?" we ask each other. "We'll never get a bunch of kids as good as these ones..."

Getting in

I've never liked the term "discipline" as a way to refer to what I teach and write about. It's harsh, forbidding, army-like. I much prefer to tell people that I work in a particular field --maybe because as a kid I wanted to be a farmer.

It smells like baklava and/or cinnamon swirl glaze in my room which, although odd because there is no one in the kitchen to make either, reminds me of my pre-midterms diet and all the other things I miss about Oberlin.