Books So Long, Lady
posted by March 21 at 17:00 PM
onHere, at last, is the announcement you’re all waiting for, the collective opinion of the judges in the “Why This Portrait [of Ayn Rand] Is Rightfully Mine and No One Else’s” essay contest. Sorry it’s an hour late.
Ahem [I’m reading this aloud]:
We the judges of this contest believe Ayn Rand serves a critical purpose. She’s the ideal author for a teenager to read and be captivated by because she enshrines the primary value of teenagerdom—the idea that the self is the unquestionable center of the universe—as a kind of moral imperative. By the time you begin to outgrow that sense of self-enshrinement and recognize yourself as connected to a larger world, the stiff, fascistic humorlessness masquerading as heroism of Rand’s writing should become one of those things (maybe the first one) you realize you thought was brilliant, but only because you were young, and selfish, and WRONG. She’s a skin you shed. And essay number one is the best evidence of someone prepared to use this portrait to help future generations shed that skin. So, Bill, the portrait is hereby yours and no one else’s.
Overachieving judge and Stranger Associate Editor Emeritus Sean Nelson basically wrote that himself, although the rest of us are in full agreement. Nevertheless, there was lively discussion of other entries, in particular these two sentences from entry #46…
Naked Ayn Mole Rand held dear the concepts of cold bloodedness, rationality, and narrow poorly developed eyes. Her teeth are outside her lips, even when she closes her mouth.
As well as the beginning and end of entry #31…
This portrait is rightfully mine and no one else’s because I am the most important person in the world… I do not understand why you are even considering the thoughts and emotions of others in this process…
To say nothing of the wildly celebrated entirety of entry #2…
Fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped into fucking cuntberries chopped and eaten with a special sauce of redhot hatred, you, Ayn Rand, you.
Not to mention entry #6—the one concerning an ex-husband, a new boyfriend, and a pre-coital dinner at Red Lobster—or the Willie Stark impersonator of entry #36.
Thank you, everyone, for contributing (even those of you who clearly have never read Ayn Rand), and congratulations to Bill, whose entry, reproduced below, clocks in at exactly 256 words.
The Ayn Rand portrait currently hanging in the offices of the Stranger is rightfully mine and no one else’s because I can use it to educate—that is, destroy—some of Ayn Rand’s youngest and most misguided followers.
Teaching American literature at Northwestern, about twice a year I run into some otherwise smart and sensible student who has an Ayn Rand infection, that insidious intellectual disorder that substitutes egotism for empathy and selfishness for human sympathy. Her philosophy attracts them because they are the John Galts of their own little universes, as demonstrated by their admission to NU. They are unable to see past the end of their own noses to the grim reality that if writers were countries and bullshit were crude oil, Ayn Rand would be Saudi Arabia.
When this portrait arrives at Northwestern, I will place it over a dart board in my office, behind my meeting table. Any time a student brings up Atlas Shrugged or The Fountainhead in class or a paper or casual conversation, I will invite them to my office, where they will see this portrait skewered with several darts, one throwing knife, and a novelty scimitar letter-opener.
With this symbolic rejection of Rand behind me I will rip their intellectual pretensions into tiny little shreds. I will teach them that any philosophy which cannot differentiate between Hitler or Stalin and Mother Theresa or Jane Addams is not just a system of thought in need of tweaking and elaboration, it’s objectively in need of ridicule, rejection and righteous anger.
Send photos.
Comments
I humbly accept this great honor. My shipping address for that tube:
Bill Savage
Department of English
University Hall 215
Northwestern University
Evanston, IL 60208
Picture forthcoming.
Was Ayn Rand pro- or con-nepotism?
I suppose it'll be nice to walk into a professor's office and know, right away, that he's not at all interested in what you have to say if he happens to disagree with it.
So much for college as a place of discussion and intellectual growth.
Full disclosure: Bill is my brother. The fix was in.
Oh, and college profs aren't journalists. They're allowed -- supposed -- to have opinions.
Thank you so much, dick-head, for ensuring that we have that, and only that, to look at all fucking weekend.
Hey, how come no one told me the fix was in? Shit. I wouldn't have worked so hard on this thing.
and @3: one of the things that students need to learn, especially in this day and age of incessant coddling and moral relativism, is that just because they think something or have an opinion that they get their little hands held and their opinions respected (ie, not demolished by authority figures). Fuck that. Some ideas and opinions are just plain fucking wrong, and I am happy to teach them that. Not by fiat, mind you, but by discussion. With the knifey portrait looming. And since I don't assign Rand, these extracurricular discussions have no influence on a student's grades. That's real education.
I love you all. I think I'll go make a donation to a soup kitchen, in honor of all the Randroids out there, whether their adolescence is physical or merely mental.
From the makers of Honey Bunches of Oats, try new Post Cereal "Cuntberries and Cream!" It'll stick to your ribs, yo.
The pictures are rightfully mine. But you can have them.
Some of Rand's ideas and opinions were silly and wrong, and discussion in that vein can do no harm.
Destroying art which so well represents its subject - for the stated purpose of ridiculing those you consider your intellectual inferiors - reflects more about the literature professor's respect for an artist's effort than it does his disdain for Ayn Rand.
Nice work.
Goddamn it. Why didn't I have any literature professors like Bill Savage at MN? I just had humorless deconstructionist PC police (this being ~1990) Then again, with teachers such as Bill I might not have gone into engineering.
@11Rich Ard:
Hadn't thought of that about the originality of the art itself. Maybe I'll make a big xerox of the original art, and skewer that instead. Or just use the darts and knives to secure the likeness to the cork.
But I'm not ridiculing anyone. I'm disabusing them of their bullshit. That's called education. In fact, by inviting a student for a discussion of their favorite writer, I'm respecting them more than many professors who cannot be bothered to show up for office hours. Ridicule would be just saying "Ayn Rand?" and then sighing.
Bill,
If you'll send me the poster I'll pay the shipping and get it to my mother, who wrote the entry "@12". She's read most if not all that Rand ever wrote, and would truly enjoy the original.
If I may also quote from your essay:
"...I can use it to educate—that is, destroy—some of Ayn Rand’s youngest and most misguided followers."
I submit to you that your suggestion at this point that your goal is in fact to invite discussion, to help them understand that they are wrong, is directly at odds with that essay's premise.
For the record, Bill Savage is *not* a professor at Northwestern University. The University lists him as a "Senior Lecturer." Whatever that is.
And I sincerely hope that the nepotism joke is truly that -- a joke. Anyone upset about losing might otherwise decide to bring a lawsuit for specific performance against Mr. Savage (Dan) for receipt of the portrait.
And I, too, am saddened that the art is going to be destroyed. And for such a small minded purpose. Had I thought that the actual idea behind the contest was to solicit ridicule of Ayn Rand, I could have come up with as much dirt as anyone else.
Mr. Dan and Mr Bill Savage:
I am the woman who wrote essay #12. I was rather proud of it. I thought it made clear that I neither worshipped nor vilified Ayn Rand, but appreciated her contributions enough to want to have a piece of art that neither worships nor vilifies her, either. I would have been glad to have it, and I'm sad that it is going to be destroyed.
But your glee at the eventual destruction of her portrait can't come anywhere near the pride I feel at the thoughtful comments my children have made on this web site. They are my greatest achievement and I am richer having them, than you will be, in possession of a portrait.
But..but..bu- Mine was the only entry that mentioned ORAL SEX! Since when does that not automatically win at the Stranger?! HEL-LOO! THE STRANGER?! You're right! Fucking contest HAD TO BE FIXED!
@15: a "Senior Lecturer" is a professor whose primary job is teaching undergraduates, not research, and that's my official title. I'm also a College Adviser, an administrator in the Dean's Office of the College of Arts and Sciences. "Professor" is the general term for anyone who teaches at a University who's not a graduate student. You can check out the various awards I've won for my teaching and scholarship if you just keep googling around NU's websites. Have fun!
@ Rich Ard again: education includes destruction, just as birth includes death. Bad ideas must be destroyed. I do not have to be neutral and all-embracing. And how can anyone ask someone to commit an act of altruism in the name of a philosopher/novelist who claimed altruism is stupid and evil? Sure, you'll pay the postage, but I have to GIVE something to someone instead of using it for my own ends. Doesn't sound very Randian to me. But then again, I despise her ideas, so shouldn't I go against them, shouldn't I prove how non-Randian I am by being altruistic?
@ Dorothy B. Tyler: Good for you raising kids who want to support and help you. They're an altruistic contribution you have made to the world. Thanks. Send me your address, and after I make a xerox of the original for my nefarious undergraduate soul-crushing/educational purposes, I'll send the original to you. Gratis.
Mr. Bill:
If Dan is truly your brother, he can get my email address off this page and send it to you, with my blessing. Email me and I will send you my address.
I thank you for the gift.
Dear Dorothy:
My email is
b-savage@northwestern.edu
send me your address and I'll send you the original art early next month. I know a good framing outfit: would you like me to get it framed? (Seriously.)
Bill
I thought Bill's and Golob's were the best (Golob's was by far the funniest), but I'm glad my entry caused some lively discussion.
Funny that at least three of the essays mentioned in this post were written by people in Chicago (me, Cat, Bill)...
You fargin iceholes.
Forget the scimitar, Bill; skewer that poster with...an enormous penis!
Ignore @23, Bill.
A railroad spike and several architect's compasses would be much more appropriate articles with which to skewer the Late Ms. Rand's image.
And think goodness I DID have a prof like you (well, it was grad school, but never too late, IMO).
Perry had a very good aphorism, that applies in this situation (and which he freely admitted was not of his own origination):
"Opinions are like assholes; everybody's got one, and most of them stink."
Where are all the bitchy comments about NSFW!!!, NSFW!!!! and "Use a jump, asshole!!!"
Oh, right. Hypocrites.
Hey! What about my essay? I should have won, even though I posted in the wrong thread. I love me, so I can truly say I love you!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ukJiBZ8_4k
nepo-motherfuckin-tism. I guess The Stranger is only a fan of nepotism in their own cute clique. You fuckers should endorse Clinton if you think this shit is fair.
I said this was stupid.
I wasn't disappointed.
Actually, the fix wasn't in. I didn't know Chris picked Bill until after this was posted. And when I saw it, I was ticked. Because I knew charges of nepotism would come rolling down.
For the record: No relative of mine has ever been employed at the Stranger. Mudede can't say the same thing.
Still--
Post pictures of the winner. ;)
Mudude carrying his shit in a jar labeled "ideas" doesnt count as Nepotism.
I think Rathke should have decided. I think Bill was a fine choice, though.
Bill,
If you had to deal with us as a parent, you'd understand that neither I nor my siblings were exercises in altruism. Not very good ones, anyway.
"And how can anyone ask someone to commit an act of altruism in the name of a philosopher/novelist who claimed altruism is stupid and evil?"
I just wanted the drawing to survive this. I'm no Objectivist. :) Thanks, sir.
Interesting that poster of the you tube video had to disable the comments.
Absolutely the most edgimicated and cromulent discussion on Slog in weeks. I feel embiggened enough to face not only the day, but the coming week as well.
Dorothy (and Rich Ard): I thought your response was far and away the most cogent, intelligent, and well-thought-out.
Bill, I'm glad to see you're going to do the right thing and attack a photocopy and not the original art.
Stranger staff... What's the best address to use to ship you copies of Fahrenheit 454? Can you put me on the list for the field trip to SAM to spray paint over art you find objectionable? Is the Artist aware of this contest? If so, how does she feel?
454? I thought it felt a bit hotter in here...
Dawgson: Thank you for those kind words. Apparently you didn't notice the misspelled word -- or were too gracious to mention it.
I've wondered about the artist's response to all this as well.
Dan? Are you listening? Can you tell us?
Books are damp in Seattle... I felt like it might take 3 extra degrees to get them to burn.
(note to self: No posting before coffee.)
@3 - It would be nice if a student walked into my office. Nice for me. Nice for the student. Bill offers students one of the many experiences they yearn for at the university, even though many do not know they yearn for it. That is, attention from a faculty member. Knowing that your professor is not interested in what you have to say means that your professor knows who you are. And Bill is right, there are lots of professors who don't much care what undergraduates have to say. But many of us do. It breaks my goddamn heart when an undergraduate is surprised that I know her name, or when I make a comment on his paper or ask her opinion, or. . . yes, take the time to tell her that I am not interested in her particular idea and propose a counter idea that has more grounding in research, life, compassion and kindness. . . and then explain why and talk to her about it. Just saying.
Most students at large research universities never have the experience of learning that a professor is not interested in their ideas. Sorry @3. Attending college does not by itself wrap a student in a cloak of discussion and intellectual growth. Students have to work. Faculty have to work. Administrators have to work. All have to WANT college to be a place of discussion and intellectual growth, and then take action to make it so.
Snipey platitudes are not a productive response. PS Bill is doing the right thing - slash a representation of a representation of a representation. . .
@41: ZOMG! A signifier without a signified. That's like totes postmodern.
I am glad Bill takes the time to know his students but gladder still that some of my professors were actually willing to engage in critical discourse instead of just trying to enforce their own opinions on unformed young minds.
@41: ZOMG! A signifier without a signified. That's like totes postmodern.
I am glad Bill takes the time to know his students but gladder still that some of my professors were actually willing to engage in critical discourse instead of just trying to enforce their own opinions on unformed young minds.
@41: ZOMG! A signifier without a signified. That's like totes postmodern.
I am glad Bill takes the time to know his students but gladder still that some of my professors were actually willing to engage in
wow. Today is so not my day on here.
@41 wrote:
"Knowing that your professor is not interested in what you have to say means that your professor knows who you are."
While I'm perfectly willing to concede that any of *my* professors might have felt that way about me personally, I can't quite follow that statement as an a priori result (hey -- this all started with Ayn Rand).
Nor can I follow how an "idea" can have "more grounding in research, life, compassion and kindness." An idea is an idea. It may be a bad one, you may not agree with it, but it can always be the fodder to start a discussion. Unless one party to the discussion dismisses it without discussion and then just proposes another.
A final confusion. @41 wrote:
"Snipey platitudes are not a productive response." There were no platitudes in @3's comments. An observation is not a platitude.
Why do I have this feeling that so few who've posted here have ever read "Atlas Shrugged" or "The Fountainhead"? Were we students of the Sixties complete idiots or what? In defense of Ayn, give the following piece a gander - unless of course you are not interested in alternative views. As in so many cases, the meat of the article is near the bottom, regarding Random hatred.
http://usabig.com/autonomist/antbkcrand.html
Dorothy B. Tyler, "So much for college as a place of discussion and intellectual growth" certainly fits the definition of a snipey platitude.
The professors who have responded to this post have been exceedingly gracious. You've got your portrait. Time to let this go.
(Before you go, may I suggest you read Fnarf's submission. It makes some cogent points.)
@48: The idea that it's disrespectful or unacceptable to challenge the establishment (whether it be academia or the Bush White House) is one of the biggest problems with the country today.
If academia really is about critical inquiry and intellectual discourse, professors should welcome informed and respectful debate even if it challenges their beliefs.
Knee-jerk liberalism comes from the same place as right-wing conservatism and both are best avoided.
Dawgson, I agree, but I really don't think the future of America hangs either on this thread or on the wall of Bill Savage's office. And while I appreciate your earnestness, I'm also wary of passionate convictions so easily misplaced.
@Dawgson
"If academia really is about critical inquiry and intellectual discourse, professors should welcome informed and respectful debate even if it challenges their beliefs."
So, if I respectfully and informedly challenge the beliefs of my Rand-Fan undergrads, that's OK, right? And if I demolish their ill-informed and respectless hero-worship of Rand and her bullshit, that's OK too, right?
Just trying to suss out the logic of your position. Suspect there isn't much.
Dude, Dawgson, seriously. If you'd ever taken a class with Bill you'd know he's A) one of the best teachers at NU and B) pretty damn respectful of his students. If you're a good teacher you can differentiate between respect for a student and respect for all of said student's dumb ideas. And they're undergrads. They all have dumb ideas!
But anyway, point being, Bill was one of the best teachers I was lucky to have as an undergrad at NU. And I'm not the only one who feels that way ... it's a total bitch to get into his classes because they're so full. So clearly his STUDENTS have no issue with his teaching methods.
@Arduous:
Thanks, whoever you are.
Hey Bill--
The internet is a bad medium for communicating tone and intent so I'm going to assume there's been some misreadings on both sides. It sounds like you're a very popular professor, so I'm going to assume you give your students a fair chance at dialog in person.
So, for me, the discussion is closed and I apologize for anything I said that you found offensive. I'm glad art isn't being destroyed for the sake of pedagogy, and all's well that ends well.
And Dorothy, thanks for giving Kathryn Rathke's creative labors a good home.
@ Dawgson
Not offended, just disagreeing. As someone whose own online stuff is often misread tone-wise, I dig wherefrom you come.
Peace.
Bill
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