(no subject)
Shelby Boardman died over the weekend.
Shelby was my favorite prof in college, bar none. I had him for Intro to Geology, Mineralogy, Petrology, the Australia trip, a summer research project in California and he was my adviser, officially starting when I declared my geo major, but informally for the year before that.
I blame him for a lot of things.
I blame him for making me proud of the fact that I'm an anal-retentive geek.
I blame him for my intense desire to go back to Australia.
I blame him for the fact that I left Carleton with a degree instead of a nervous breakdown.
I blame him for encouraging my lifelong fascination with science and religion and how they interact. I ended up taking as many religion courses as geo courses and he never once displayed anything other than enthusiasm for my cross-disciplinary ways.
I blame him for making me annoyed and impatient with science courses that are all regurgitation and no fun (which, thankfully, was something that I had to wait until after Carleton to experience again).
I blame him (along with my parents) for the fact that I regard a weekend spent freezing my butt off in rain that's barely not snow, tromping around in the mud in a forest, or field, or (god forbid) cow pasture looking for rocks, trees, a good view, or whatever, as a rip-roaring good time only rivaled by doing the same thing in 95 degree sun and no shade.
I blame him for the fact that my off-line journal is kept in poem-form; something I did on a whim on the Australia trip that he was really enthusiastic about.
And that's barely scratching the surface.
Shelby was my favorite prof in college, bar none. I had him for Intro to Geology, Mineralogy, Petrology, the Australia trip, a summer research project in California and he was my adviser, officially starting when I declared my geo major, but informally for the year before that.
I blame him for a lot of things.
I blame him for making me proud of the fact that I'm an anal-retentive geek.
I blame him for my intense desire to go back to Australia.
I blame him for the fact that I left Carleton with a degree instead of a nervous breakdown.
I blame him for encouraging my lifelong fascination with science and religion and how they interact. I ended up taking as many religion courses as geo courses and he never once displayed anything other than enthusiasm for my cross-disciplinary ways.
I blame him for making me annoyed and impatient with science courses that are all regurgitation and no fun (which, thankfully, was something that I had to wait until after Carleton to experience again).
I blame him (along with my parents) for the fact that I regard a weekend spent freezing my butt off in rain that's barely not snow, tromping around in the mud in a forest, or field, or (god forbid) cow pasture looking for rocks, trees, a good view, or whatever, as a rip-roaring good time only rivaled by doing the same thing in 95 degree sun and no shade.
I blame him for the fact that my off-line journal is kept in poem-form; something I did on a whim on the Australia trip that he was really enthusiastic about.
And that's barely scratching the surface.