I've donated space on my weblog this evening for a fictional elderly law professor to discuss the use of laptop computers in class. Here he goes:
I hate laptops. I hate everything about them. I hate the noise of a hundred and twenty students typing. I hate the low-level hum their fans make. I hate the way they obscure everyone's faces so I can't really make eye contact with my students anymore. And I hate the way they smell. And don't tell me it's me who smells, not the laptops. I don't smell, and it's a terrible rumor. Whoever started it should be ashamed of himself. It was only that one time, and I'd had a lot to drink that day. In any case, students used to pay attention in class, but not since those laptops started taking over. Now they're playing solitaire, or even worse. Pac-Man. Pong. Text-based role playing games I read about in the AARP magazine. Or they're e-mailing each other, or sending those instant telegrams to each other. Or looking at pornography on the Internet. I know. I can see it in their eyes. They're not watching me. No, sir. And who needs typed notes anyway? Back in my day all we had was a quill and some parchment, and we still did fine. It's not like I say anything worth writing down. It's all garbage I'm making up, most of it incoherent since I'm senile. But never worth writing down. And even if it was, it's all in the casebook. Like they're ever going to look at their notes. But at least if they didn't have the laptops they'd look in my eyes. I could see the magic of learning happening like I used to. That moment of cognition when they understand why the negligence standard is so important to a well-functioning democracy. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. But I hate those laptops. Clickity clack, that's all I hear. Except for the sounds of my brain, struggling to process information and reconnect the links that time has eroded. I wish I had some pudding. I love pudding.
Thank you, fictional elderly law professor, for sharing your thoughts. We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
I hate laptops. I hate everything about them. I hate the noise of a hundred and twenty students typing. I hate the low-level hum their fans make. I hate the way they obscure everyone's faces so I can't really make eye contact with my students anymore. And I hate the way they smell. And don't tell me it's me who smells, not the laptops. I don't smell, and it's a terrible rumor. Whoever started it should be ashamed of himself. It was only that one time, and I'd had a lot to drink that day. In any case, students used to pay attention in class, but not since those laptops started taking over. Now they're playing solitaire, or even worse. Pac-Man. Pong. Text-based role playing games I read about in the AARP magazine. Or they're e-mailing each other, or sending those instant telegrams to each other. Or looking at pornography on the Internet. I know. I can see it in their eyes. They're not watching me. No, sir. And who needs typed notes anyway? Back in my day all we had was a quill and some parchment, and we still did fine. It's not like I say anything worth writing down. It's all garbage I'm making up, most of it incoherent since I'm senile. But never worth writing down. And even if it was, it's all in the casebook. Like they're ever going to look at their notes. But at least if they didn't have the laptops they'd look in my eyes. I could see the magic of learning happening like I used to. That moment of cognition when they understand why the negligence standard is so important to a well-functioning democracy. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. But I hate those laptops. Clickity clack, that's all I hear. Except for the sounds of my brain, struggling to process information and reconnect the links that time has eroded. I wish I had some pudding. I love pudding.
Thank you, fictional elderly law professor, for sharing your thoughts. We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
posted by Anonymous @ 11:58 PM
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