Mark Twain once said, “I have never let schooling interfere with my education.” A simple yet profound statement.
No doubt most of us who attend an institute of higher (see: UT-Austin) or not-so-higher (see: Mississippi State) learning have come to the conclusion that the majority of things we learn about ourselves, society, politics, history, pop culture, sex, religion, etc. – has not come from the classroom.
For instance when I arrived at this University, I was a work-boot-wearing, Confederate-flag-waving, staunch Republican, Christian Bush supporter from the suburbs of northern Louisiana with a red four-wheel-drive pickup and a selfish, gotta-have-it-all attitude. I wanted to work on f–ing Wall Street for God’s sake.
Not that there is anything inherently wrong with celebrating one’s Dixie heritage, praising God (see: Bush), hailing Bush (see: God) or being a stockbroker, but from the experiences I had and the things I learned during college – most of them outside the classroom and not from professors – I have morphed into an almost completely different person than that annoying 18 year old who thought money guaranteed me not only women and fast cars but also character and virtue.
Now, I am a pro-choice, anti-death penalty, pro-gun, humanitarian Libertarian deist who pretty much has no respect for (nor desires to be) a politician, a clergyman, a teacher, a policeman, a TV news anchor or a parent.
To be perfectly honest I do not put a whole lot of stock into what philosophies people identify with. Don’t get me wrong – I am opinionated and I stand firm behind my beliefs, but labels don’t tell me any more about a person than does the color of his skin or the type of car he drives. I mean, I get a basic idea, but it doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.
I think I have come to grips with my political and religious beliefs. These are most likely the ones I will adhere to the rest of my life.
But if my knowledge and opinions didn’t come from reading $90 textbooks and listening to dubiously labeled “experts” with their thinning hair and tweed sportcoats drone on about Aristotle’s golden mean and supply and demand, then how were they deposited into my brain?
Surely not spontaneous combustion – didn’t they teach us that is impossible?
I think it actually might have something to do with evolutionary development, but don’t quote me on that one, Ruff.
No, my real education, my true education – the one that has opened my mind instead of turning it into a repository of echoes – came from the most unlikely of places. Well – unlikely at least to Christian conservatives, higher-ed officials on the governor’s payroll and people like Bill Frist.
My bona fide schooling came from comedians. From television and movies, and long drives down dark highways. It came from weekend road trips to LSU football games and three-hour long conversations over pints of New Castle, Abita Amber and black-and-tans.
It came from staying up all night reading books.
Books actually authored by one person, not by seven or twelve professors from Ph.D. programs I’ve never heard of. Not books rereleased every year so publishers can swindle more student-loan money under the auspices of “updated and revised editions.”
I’m talking about texts you can buy for two bucks at a used book store. My favorite is The Book Trader on Coursey Boulevard just past Sherwood Forest. You can even pawn those crappy novels you bought in high school, like the entire “Gossip Girl” series or “The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”
Throughout college I think I have learned more from the following people, movies and music than from anything I heard in a classroom or read in an assigned text: George Carlin, a comedic genius and political commentator with whom I most identify; Bob Schneider, a musician who puts into words what I feel and plays chords I can’t even hum; my family and close friends, people who never pushed me to do anything I didn’t believe in; everyone who I have worked with at the Daily Reveille, colleagues and friends with whom I have argued, laughed, drank and compared life notes; Chuck Palahniuk and H.L. Mencken, whose books continually reminded me why I want to be a writer; “Swingers,” “The Godfather” and “Blues Brothers,” which taught me how to be cool, humble, respectful and unique without being pretentious.
There are other people, movies, musicians, etc. that have helped shape who I am. I extend a warm thanks to these people, but that is not the primary goal of this column.
Convincing you to challenge accepted truths and question things that authority figures tell you – that is, and always has been, the purpose behind my writing.
So I’m going to leave you with a final bit of advice. After that I promise you will hear a lot less out of me. Here it is:
Always look up when you go someplace new. Always read titles forward and backward. Country music is not as bad or uncool as people would have you believe (neither is abstinence for that matter – see: venereal disease). Meet as many people as you can, and eat as many different types of food as you can. Go to an away LSU football game. See a Swine Palace theatre production.
Drive around Baton Rouge really fast without looking at street signs and get lost – then find your way back home without a map and stop anywhere that looks cool along the way.
Start good relationships and end bad ones. Then end a good relationship and start a bad one.
Drink different kinds of beer and try out different religions, especially ones you’ve never heard of (beers and faiths). Stand up for someone else’s rights. Visit a homeless shelter. Study abroad.
Defend the First Amendment.
These are all things you undergrads need to do and you soon-to-be graduates should have already done.
As for me, much like our modern-day collegiate hero, Van Wilder, I’m off to look for that dare-to-be-great situation. I just don’t know if I am daring enough or if I even believe in using moronic words like “situation.”
Write that down.
 
Dennis is a theatre senior. Contact him at [email protected]