The minutes

Nov 09, 2007 03:33

My thesis advisor is at the top of his field, and in many ways, created certain aspects of it. His book is eloquent, fulfilling, and complete. For the record, this man is the same one who got me interested in hallucinogenic drugs, such as nutmeg, which I experimented with repeatedly and only got a hangover. With that said, here are some comments he receives on Ratemyprofessors.com:

"I'll admit that he's strange, but I found him hilarious. He has a monotone voice, but he's at the top of his field and very accomplished. If you go to his lectures, you'll do fine on the tests."

"To be fair, he does give back points when he realizes he's put material on tests that he didn't cover in class. He's a great guy, and easy to approach. But he tends to talk in circles and can be confusing."

I wish I had saved a copy of the most recent one that was sent to me, because it's damning. This is how I described him a year ago after he asked me what was attractive about drinking urine in the comments section of my shamanism paper:

"IT WAS A JOKE YOU DUMB FUCK. Oh hell, Professor, you mean to tell me you don't start your day with a fresh cup? And to think that I pinned you as the eccentric type, what with habitually arriving to class 14 minutes late every day, looking for all the world like a kindergartener who's proud that his mom allowed him to dress himself today. The way you decide not to show up for a solid week without any advance notice just makes me want to lick your ears even more, you emotionally distant stud. I know you're just playing hard-to-get, and I'm hooked. I get up every day wondering which topic you'll arbitrarily cut out of your next lecture mid-discussion. Let's make like the natives and 'ka-lan!yun.

That's seriously the only fucking comment that I can read in this entire damn rape and pillage. I really need to find someone around here who can act as an interpreter and translate this for me, because I'm at a total loss. You'd think a guy who studies linguistics would know a thing or two about penmanship. I've asked my suitemates, but the best they can come up with for one of the tirades is this:

"Josh, crap it up. I think G [three lines of pen scribble] lor J. What follows can be incorporated into the text end discussion F shamanism, and it varieties (re: duck use or loot) and efforts. Disco the waffle J shamanish Z theory of reality at the end. USB."

While he is helpful overall with the thesis, our e-mail interchanges tend to accomplish remarkably little. Here is an actual e-mail I sent to him a few days ago:

"Sorry for lack of a recent reply; been sick and throwing up feijoada. Rice and beans takes its toll. I will send the draft chapter to you by that date."

And his closing sentence in his follow-up was a caring "Take care of your health. A hug."

What I'm getting at with all of this irrelevant shit is the following: We're turning into this weird ass father-son, step-uncle-nephew, maybe even grandmother-wife duo. The bond is creepy, but I feel like I can trust him with everything. Which is great, because I have to. He's like the step-uncle that I never had, or wanted, or realized could exist within our culture's kinship system.

Anyway, partial credit will be given for kittens. USB.
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