“In one century we have gone from teaching Greek and Latin in high school,” remarked a chalk scribbling that appeared on a sidewalk in the Quad during my freshman year, “To offering remedial English in college.”
This pithy sidewalk graffiti summed up my feelings towards my first year of academia at LSU. But lately, as the halfway point of my undergraduate career approaches, I have been reflecting nostalgically on the many unique lessons that LSU has taught me. I can now avoid dying on the streets of Moscow, for example, thanks to skills I’ve acquired in elementary Russian and basic rifle and pistol marksmanship.
But in the tradition of holistic higher education, much of what I’ve learned from LSU has been outside of the classroom. In my two years here, I have gained much wisdom, including observing those who are pursuing an MRS. degree (still a legitimate undertaking), and learned much about the Confederate States of America (they were right, of course; Geaux Tigers!).
I’ve also learned that backward priorities are the hallmark of a flagship university. Firing instructors and corralling students into 1,000-person classrooms? A boon to education. Planning to destroy the historic buildings along Raphael Semmes Drive in favor of a parking garage that could easily be erected over an existing lot? Beneficial to the University community.
LSU has taught me the meaning of irony: we rally around the creation of an acceptable habitat for Mike the Tiger while the only acceptable habitat for many graduate and foreign students — the Nicholson and Edward Gay Apartments — is slated to be destroyed in a few years.
Another important lesson learned from LSU: our priorities seem to be comforting and pampering our giant sports program — while disabled students continue to be shut out from most of the campus and tsunami relief for international students goes underfunded. Perhaps someone will come up with the funding to replace the scooters of the athletically inclined with purple and gold rickshaws.
LSU provides a formidable social education as well. At a University formerly ranked as the nation’s premier party school, the main social activity — getting drunk with strangers and pretending they’re your friends — can become a bit dull and repetitive. Experience has taught me a good way to break this monotony: get drunk with your friends and pretend they’re strangers.
Writing for The Daily Reveille this past semester has schooled me in the art of political discourse. With Republicans controlling every facet of society (except, fittingly, higher education), standards of argumentation have declined significantly — simply calling whatever you don’t like “kooky” and “leftist” is usually a sufficient refutation. Sadly, the liberal response of knocking down crucifixes and thrashing around half-nude in the quadrangle fountain doesn’t do much to discourage this practice. Meanwhile, the apathetic and presumptuous middle rolls its eyes at anyone who expresses their convictions with actual passion and sincerity.
But perhaps most importantly, I’ve learned that beneath the third-tier mediocrity of LSU are endless gems. We have a cross-section of charming people (neatly cataloged and indexed thanks to thefacebook.com), the Franco-American witticisms of Dr. Francois Raffoul (a former child star who was once under the tutelage of Jacques Derrida) and the strange beauty of our abandoned pool house (abandoned just like Huey P.’s foolish dreams of a socialist-populist state).
LSU will probably teach me its most essential lesson two years from now, when I graduate and attempt to enter the fickle, unforgiving job market. Whether our two football championships and world’s largest collection of bird DNA will make my degree worthwhile outside of the Tigerland bar circuit remains to be seen