Second Thoughts on Classes

This is a picture of the communal garden just outside my apartment. My window looks down on it. Every morning there's a man outside sweeping the leaves off the grass (yes, sweeping). It's very well kept, as each tenant pays a fee each month to keep the property clean.

Having settled into my classes a bit, I've found that some of them are not what they seemed. The narration class, so far at least, is nothing of journalism. We've been studying short stories, the way their composed, the various ways to tell a story, etc. We're studying the foundations of narration, dating all the way back to the the Hebrew Bible--the first best selling story. But

of course the Western Canon is extensive (and subject to personal interpretation as to what exactly constitutes "canon") and the course provokes an overwhelming urgency to get-out-and read, which isn't always easy to find the time for. We had to write a page and half about our first day at the University--how we felt, what happened, etc. My story is pretty funny:

It took me three sets of directions from three different people just to get to the Communications building. The campus is tiny, too, so when I arrived, 20 minutes or so later, not only was I sweaty and tired, but thoroughly convinced that I would never succeed in Chile.

The classroom is on the thrid floor, so I decided to take the elevator that day (tired and all from walking). I got into the elevator, quickly pressed the button that closes the doors, and waited. No movement. I pressed the button to the third floor six or seven times in a row hyperactively, and still the elevator wouldn't budge. The button that opens the door wouldn't work either. The only other button after that was the emergency button, which I refused to press, as I imagined all too vividly the fire department of Santiago coming to campus, their sirens blaring, to rescue the North American who just HAD to take the elevator. All the while I'm sweating my ass off because it's 90 degrees outside and 105 in the elevator. Finally, out of desperation, I wedged my fingers into the crack where the door closes and pried the thing open with the tips of my fingers. I was able to make a crack just wide enough to squeeze out of.

Of course the first person I saw once out was the building guard, who kindly explained to me that the elevator is not for students, and that you need a key to access it. So I took the stairs up to classroom only to find it empty. The class was on wednesdays, not tuesdays.

We've barely talked about photography in my photography class. So far we've been reading philosophy as part of the theoretical aspect of the course. Philosophy is hard enough in English. In Spanish, it's killer, but i'm grinding through it. Today my professor asked me if I was having trouble reading the philosophy is Spanish. I said yes, very much so. The he said, "Why don't you read them in English?" I was shocked. Why hadn't I thought of this before? But as nice as the idea sounds, I won't be able to find the texts in English here. We're almost done with the philosophy anyway.

The other classes are just as expected. So far the work is minimum, the readings optional and attendance optional. I don't expect that it will stay this way for the next 3 months, but who knows.

Tomorrow I have a date to play basketbal with a Chilean friend named Felipe after class. He tells me that I may have the height, but that he'll "shoot the Three over my head all day long."