Dinosaur Lecture Hall
The Geology department has recently come into possession of a dinosaur, a sauropod or therapod or something like that which was given to a museum but the museum hasn’t done anything with it and is willing to give it back. The division auditorium is the only place with enough empty wall to hold the thing, so there’s been some talk of installing it up there at some point; not soon.
Which is a pity, because that auditorium is currently the home of my awfullest math class – one of those ones where the professor began his career as a dusty old prop in Burbank somewhere, playing a caricature of himself on network television. He’s got the slightly singsong voice, the nonsensical technical terminology, the emphasis on all the wrong words – especially words like “you should find” and “trivial.”
Every time I go to one of his lectures, I start filling my notes with the word “fuck” over and over again in the headings. Fourier has his fucking fingers in everything law of heat conduction and quasi-linear fuckity fuck. If I didn’t have a friend to sit by who laughs at most of my angry notes, I would probably explode. Then I’d really be fucked.