final final
Aside from a few papers left to write, I have officially completed my undergraduate career at Northwestern. My last "final" occurred last night and kicked off what I imagine to be a week or more of surreal experiences as I close out the year. The "exam" that Paul - professor of Performance of Shakespeare - had prepared for us was a series of scenes he'd cut and prepared from Shakespeare's three Henry VI plays that we would perform between the hours of 7pm and 10pm. With essays and actual tests breathing down our everyone's necks at this time of year, it was no one's idea of a good time to coordinate five and more people to meet for a few hours to rehearse scenes and memorize lines every couple days for about two weeks. In the end, though, the product was well worth the effort - watching two solid hours of generally well-executed Shakespearian performance from one of his lesser-know groups of plays felt so rewarding and, true to Paul's pedagogical desires, has inspired me to re-read the plays and think about them beyond the extent of the class.
The surrealist aspect of the evening's events began just after the performance (which, incidentally, concluded with a climactic water balloon "battle" on the western hill of the student union, soaking half the class) when, from 9pm to 10pm, we were to discuss the educational value of such a pursuit. Paul met us back in the classroom holding a bottle of wine - "refreshments courtesy the garrisons stationed at Bordeaux" - and began with a lecture: "This school looks very poorly on underage drinking, and is especially hard on professors who allow such drinking in a classroom setting. Fortunately, this is a major research institution and as such, I feel it is entirely appropriate, given that each of your characters in Shakespeare's time would have been a wine drinker, for us to further our characters' development by researching the consumption of wine and the effect it would've had. So, if your character was born on or before this date in 1983, I feel justified in providing you with the means to further your higher education."
And with that, he poured each of us the smallest bit of a $40 bottle of red wine he bought to celebrate the culmination of one of his favorite classes. Once everyone had toasted Shakespeare, his histories, and those who study them, Paul reached behind a table and into his bag, at which point he brought forth four jugs of a far-cheaper red which were passed around our circle. We then began discussing the value of this method of teaching, the problems we faced, the things we learned, the issues we had, the reasons things were great/awful, spot-on/off-base. By 9:30, we'd cashed all four jugs of wine and Paul's glass was empty - for at least the third time. He began to search the room for any remaining bottles of wine and, finding none, he rose mid-conversation and reached again into his bag. Bottle five was now in play. Around the circle it went and, in less than fifteen minutes, we were faced once more with empty cups and empty bottles. Once more Paul went to his bag and once more a bottle emerged. Bottle six.
By this point, people are either absolutely brilliant or many of us are just drunker than we meant to get. People clamor to be heard, and finally that stupid "raise your hand to be called on" rule that's been hammered into us since we were four years old collapses and true discussion wins out. We are all more respectful of our peers than elementary/middle/high school teachers give us credit for and, miraculously, anyone speaking can be heard. 10pm comes and goes and no one bothers to mention that we're now in final-exam overtime. People finally start to realize the time around 10:20, and there is the rustling of bags and murmuring of unrelated conversation that imply that class has finally ended. Five glasses of wine and the weight of one's "last class/exam at college ever" make for a potent combination. As people say "goodbye" and "have a great summer" and "let's exchange numbers" and as people hug and laugh and congratulate, my eyes start to water and I can't help but reflect on four years of classes and friendships and papers and discussions. A moratorium is placed on sentimental weeping by Georgette to keep me from losing my shit in a most embarrassing fashion.
A cigarette break is then in order - especially given the amount of wine I've consumed in a little over an hour - so I retire outdoors with a classmate. We smoke, we make phone calls, we chat, and then retire again to the classroom - where no more than ten people are sitting around casually talking about, well, stuff. Everything and nothing, really. Standard drunken conversations. We walk in and every head turns and laughs. Paul unveils bottles seven and eight and demands that they be consumed before we are allowed to leave. Plans I'd made on a cell phone outside seem flimsy compared to the immediacy of ten friends/comrades and two final bottles of wine. Paul and I engage in an amazing conversation of the sort that a professor and student can have only when it's known by both parties that there is no longer a need for such labeling of power - upon graduation, we are equals. We rejoin the remaining eight revelers and converse about things I can't even recall this morning. No one knows when 10:30 becomes 11pm which then runs into 12am and settles, with the departure of one member leading to everyone's dispersement, at 12:30 in the morning. Five and a half hours - the longest final of my Northwestern career.
The final final of my Northwestern career.
The surrealist aspect of the evening's events began just after the performance (which, incidentally, concluded with a climactic water balloon "battle" on the western hill of the student union, soaking half the class) when, from 9pm to 10pm, we were to discuss the educational value of such a pursuit. Paul met us back in the classroom holding a bottle of wine - "refreshments courtesy the garrisons stationed at Bordeaux" - and began with a lecture: "This school looks very poorly on underage drinking, and is especially hard on professors who allow such drinking in a classroom setting. Fortunately, this is a major research institution and as such, I feel it is entirely appropriate, given that each of your characters in Shakespeare's time would have been a wine drinker, for us to further our characters' development by researching the consumption of wine and the effect it would've had. So, if your character was born on or before this date in 1983, I feel justified in providing you with the means to further your higher education."
And with that, he poured each of us the smallest bit of a $40 bottle of red wine he bought to celebrate the culmination of one of his favorite classes. Once everyone had toasted Shakespeare, his histories, and those who study them, Paul reached behind a table and into his bag, at which point he brought forth four jugs of a far-cheaper red which were passed around our circle. We then began discussing the value of this method of teaching, the problems we faced, the things we learned, the issues we had, the reasons things were great/awful, spot-on/off-base. By 9:30, we'd cashed all four jugs of wine and Paul's glass was empty - for at least the third time. He began to search the room for any remaining bottles of wine and, finding none, he rose mid-conversation and reached again into his bag. Bottle five was now in play. Around the circle it went and, in less than fifteen minutes, we were faced once more with empty cups and empty bottles. Once more Paul went to his bag and once more a bottle emerged. Bottle six.
By this point, people are either absolutely brilliant or many of us are just drunker than we meant to get. People clamor to be heard, and finally that stupid "raise your hand to be called on" rule that's been hammered into us since we were four years old collapses and true discussion wins out. We are all more respectful of our peers than elementary/middle/high school teachers give us credit for and, miraculously, anyone speaking can be heard. 10pm comes and goes and no one bothers to mention that we're now in final-exam overtime. People finally start to realize the time around 10:20, and there is the rustling of bags and murmuring of unrelated conversation that imply that class has finally ended. Five glasses of wine and the weight of one's "last class/exam at college ever" make for a potent combination. As people say "goodbye" and "have a great summer" and "let's exchange numbers" and as people hug and laugh and congratulate, my eyes start to water and I can't help but reflect on four years of classes and friendships and papers and discussions. A moratorium is placed on sentimental weeping by Georgette to keep me from losing my shit in a most embarrassing fashion.
A cigarette break is then in order - especially given the amount of wine I've consumed in a little over an hour - so I retire outdoors with a classmate. We smoke, we make phone calls, we chat, and then retire again to the classroom - where no more than ten people are sitting around casually talking about, well, stuff. Everything and nothing, really. Standard drunken conversations. We walk in and every head turns and laughs. Paul unveils bottles seven and eight and demands that they be consumed before we are allowed to leave. Plans I'd made on a cell phone outside seem flimsy compared to the immediacy of ten friends/comrades and two final bottles of wine. Paul and I engage in an amazing conversation of the sort that a professor and student can have only when it's known by both parties that there is no longer a need for such labeling of power - upon graduation, we are equals. We rejoin the remaining eight revelers and converse about things I can't even recall this morning. No one knows when 10:30 becomes 11pm which then runs into 12am and settles, with the departure of one member leading to everyone's dispersement, at 12:30 in the morning. Five and a half hours - the longest final of my Northwestern career.
The final final of my Northwestern career.