Professor Plum #5

History 176C: Multiculturalism in Europe.

One might think this would be a good class, as indeed I once did. Then I found out that despite being an upper division history class on an interesting subject at a decent university taught by a well respected (read: oft published) professor, it was also crosslisted in the Geography and Make-Your-Own-Hippy-Major Departments. And the professor was an idiot. Though I rarely attended the class, four or five times at most, I did have one rather memorable encounter with the professor... (no, it isn't what you're thinking... or is it?)

As class drew to a close one day, this professor made a comment about America being unequal. Being the bored student that I was, I decided to engage her on this point for kicks. Eventually, she admitted that America had equality of opportunity, though it lacked equality of ends. "An artist can't just be an artist and survive in America. This is not equality," she said. Oh my. So the class comes to a close and I realize I should probably not have antagonized my professor. Being as this was early in the semester and I didn't want to really get on the bad side of a professor who I may want to do research with/get a rec from/exploit in other fashions, I walked up to her and inquired as to whether we would be discussing Lenin's theories in the lecture on empire the next week.

"Yes. [pause] In fact, why don't you present that to the class on Tuesday"

Of course, I responded in the affirmative even though I would have rather negated a spike through her skull. Of course, I didn't actually read into Lenin that weekend. Of course, I had a migraine that tuesday morning. Of course, I hoped she'd forget about me. Of course, she didn't.

"There's a young man here who was going to do a presentation about Lenin. Could you please come up," she said as she stared directly at me. And so as I ambled toward the front of the class of 200 I tried to figure out what to do. Not accustomed to the idea of speaking in front of so many of my peers, I first frantically searched for a way to de-frantic-ify myself. Instead of racking my brain for past experiences with public speaking, however, I thought back to what pop culture would tell me to do: imagine the audience naked/in their underwear. This seemed like a good idea at the time - it was comforting in it's simplicity and familiarity even though I wasn't sure what this thought exercise was meant to accomplish. What was a good idea in that brief moment, however, became less good when I noticed the preternaturally attractive (not to mention scantily clad) brunette sitting in the front row and realized my fly was down.

My mother always said it was rude to point...







Or maybe that wasn't what happened at all.

Maybe being naked isn't just about being without clothing. Maybe it's about being "without concealment," as dictionary.com suggests. Maybe it's being vulnerable. Maybe that's what this experience was for me. I was exposed: before this vast lecture hall who could ignore, question, attack, or mock me with relative impunity as I tried to speak on a subject of which I had no concept. Shirts and socks aren't the only things you could call clothing for, as seen here, knowledge, confidence, and skill can all serve the same purpose. And that is why this was me at my most naked, my most vulnerable.





Or maybe I could talk about anything for three minutes, especially something as easy as Lenin's Imperialism and this is all bullshit.

But maybe that braggadocio is just another cover for my vulnerability. Is it?