When I think of class war I don’t picture pitchforks and full length portraits of Karl Marx. There are no picket lines or overwritten placards. No one has a bullhorn. I think of the constant thump of a gym class dodgeball inching ever closer to my face. I see spinning protractors flying through the air like Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore’s helicopter assault. Bouncing off open lockers to the tune of Wagner.
I imagine the smashing of beakers by a disgruntled Tennis pro. History, a subject so encompassing, it’s a wonder the same people don’t also teach a course on Life.
In college, classes get too specific. You lose the comfort of generalities often ound in institutions of lower learning. Why take Introduction to Advanced Multivariable Post-Calculus when you can just take Math with a capital M? A class is like a good name. Unless you are actual royalty, it shouldn’t be more than three words.
Then again, that’s just me.
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